So Familiar, So Unknown
by Landscaper01
Summary: Bruce Wayne barely survived the blast of the bomb that was set to destroy Gotham. Now recuperating in an isolated location outside of the country, he and Selina Kyle must decide if they're ready to put the past behind them. A story of walls coming down and learning to trust.
1. Chapter 1

It began that first night with barely discernable soft cries into the dark. Slight discomfort etched on his bruised and battered features, memories from the recesses of his mind fighting against a deep sleep that had eventually won out. The following night, whatever disturbed him came in more intense waves. His brow furrowed and his dark eyes darted open, focused on nothing, then closed again as he searched for a peaceful slumber.

The third night, his calls of agony had her bolting upright from the lounge chair beside his bed, the clock blinking 2am as she tried to calm her pounding heart and assess what it was that was causing him to shout. He was thrashing around almost violently, his lips moving rapidly, but she couldn't make out exactly what he was trying to say. The physician had warned her not to wake him when he was in this state; rather, she was to let the medication do its job and to let his body naturally heal itself. Meaning, even a dark and fitful rest was better than no rest at all. But as she watched him moving from side to side, his lean frame shaking from whatever will he was trying to pull from himself, his cries broke her down.

She gingerly sat on the edge of his bed, leaned over toward him and grasped him by the shoulders, applying gentle pressure in hopes that she would snap him out of it. Though her touch seemed to still him momentarily, he rolled off to one side and turned his back to her, the shudders now wracking him again full-force. Faced with no choice, she flattened herself along the muscular plane of his back, wrapping her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek in the hollow between his neck and his chin, calmly whispering to him as his sweat-soaked hair dampened her forehead.

His eyes popped open then, alert to some state of consciousness, feeling that calming presence but not seeing it. Darkness cloaked the entire room, save for the very faint sliver of moonlight that was cast on the opposite wall. His heavy eyelids blinked, trying to adjust, but the rest of his senses were on high alert to the warmth tightening around him. Gingerly, he attempted to move onto his back, but the dose of medication that made his mind feel thick - like cotton - rendered the rest of him just about as useless. Seeming to sense this, she gently pulled one arm out from under him and then pushed his shoulder down to the mattress, her soft hands cool on his slightly feverish skin. At the same time, she adjusted the pillow behind his neck, angling his head so that he could look straight up at her as she hovered over him.

"Don't try to talk," he heard her breathe. Her voice was calm, firm, and against his own will, his eyes closed again as she delicately brushed his hair back off of his forehead. The lazy circular patterns that danced just above his brows, fingertips to flesh, soothed him in a way that allowed him to drift back into a safe place. "You need your rest," he heard in a whisper, but her voice now sounded far away. "Let's take it one day at a time. You're alive. You're here. I'm not going anywhere."

She'd lain awake for a solid hour after that, studying the curvatures of his face – his strong jaw line, the slope of his nose, the slight twitch of his eyes every now and then – but was also hypnotized by the rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Yes, he was alive.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, as daylight slowly crept into the room, he never stirred when she woke to find herself still tangled around him. Her wild mass of her hair fanned across his chest and one leg draped possessively over his. She sat up carefully, stretching her stiff joints only after she had distanced herself from him. A momentary look of confusion furrowed across his brow, as if he knew he was missing something that had been there just moments before, but she turned and walked toward the door before he could register any more than that.

Out in the hall, she paused to slip an oversized robe around her lithe frame – his robe, which smelled of him and comforted her in some strange way – before she padded barefoot to the kitchen and pressed the call button hidden under the far end of the center island's cedar countertop.

Soft footsteps echoed from the lower level stairs less than a few minutes later, and the venerable, silver-haired doctor who had been their only other companion over the past 72 hours gave a kind but tired smile as she entered the kitchen.

"You look exhausted, dear," she said matter-of-factly, and Selina inwardly cringed. It had been nearly 20 years since she'd had an older woman play a key role in her life, and even longer since she'd had more than a small handful of people care about her daily whereabouts or how she was feeling physically, emotionally.

"He had a difficult evening," Selina stated evenly, her eyes focused on the task at hand as she busied herself by preparing a cup of coffee.

The older woman simply nodded and disappeared down the hall toward the master suite. She was already growing used to Selina's terse nature, correctly guessing that idle chit-chat was likely not in their near future. Besides, she was here to focus on her patient, whose still form was shrouded in semi-darkness when she shut the door behind her.

Donning a pair of gloves from the sterile box she had stashed beside his bed, she went to work checking all of his vital signs. His heartbeat was strong and his lungs sounded clear, though her biggest relief came when she saw that his temperature had dropped another .4 degrees since midnight.

"You're starting to look so much like your father," she mused out loud as she carefully checked the bandages covering the left side of his rib cage. There was no bleed through the stitches, and the raised, deep purple coloring of the skin had come down somewhat. All things considered, what he needed more than anything was rest, and the medication would help with that. The scars and bruising on the outside would heal themselves in time, but the damage he'd done to the interior would be a long haul for him.

He cringed slightly as she pressed the bandages back in place, never opening his eyes but mumbling out a soft "Selina…" that died on his tongue before his facial features went lax again. She paused and pulled the sheet back up under his arms again, tucking it carefully around him before peeling off her gloves and quietly exiting the room.

She found the younger woman standing at the front window, seemingly mesmerized as she stared out at the mountains and the undulating blur of endless, snow-capped green.

"His fever is down…it should break soon," she said carefully as she moved to stand beside her. "His vitals are strong, and the color is already turning on the stitches."

Selina said nothing at first, just rubbed her brow wearily. When had her life become about taking care of someone other than herself? It had always been about looking out for number one. If someone had told her a year ago that she'd have given up risky plundering on the familiar streets of Gotham to sit by someone's bedside and silently will them to survive, she would have scoffed at the notion.

But that was before _him_. Before she needed him to survive, because _his _survival meant _her _survival. Not just physically, but emotionally.

"What about his head?" Selina asked, though still not making eye contact.

The doctor forced her hand, walking in front of her and closing the curtain. Eliminating the distraction.

"He suffered a grade two concussion. There's no way to make light of that," she reminded Selina pointedly. "His brain tissue was already scarred from previous incidences. He may suffer from sensitivity to light. He may have trouble with motor skills, lack of balance, and mood swings. Some of these symptoms may be more severe, and some may never exist at all. Those who know him best will notice the differences first. His early scans, however, showed some slight trauma that is best treated with little movement at this point. "

A bitter chuckle escaped Selina's lips, and she wrapped her arms around herself defensively. "I don't – I mean, I _barely _know him."

However, uncharacteristically, she had taken a moment to pause, and Dr. Thompkins has picked up on it.

"Really? You remind me of him."

Selina's eyes arched. "You know nothing about me."

The older woman was shorter in stature, but stood toe-to-toe with Selina, not giving an inch, her calm voice never betraying her heightened emotions.

"Perhaps not. But I've known Bruce his entire life, and I know he doesn't trust easily. He puts up this cool exterior, much like you're doing now. Well, I'll give you two pieces of advice from lessons I've learned during my lifetime…it doesn't make a strong woman any weaker to need someone, and every woman wants to be needed. You, Selina, are no exception."

With that, she gave one last look and a shake of her head before ducking back downstairs where she had come from.


	3. Chapter 3

The next several days passed uneventfully. Selina and the good doctor tiptoed around one another while Bruce drifted in and out of sleep, though with each bit of shut eye, she was right by his side. She had come to find that she, herself, couldn't get a proper rest without feeling his warmth next to her, and so what was _his _bed had become _their _bed.

It was on the seventh morning that she woke to find him fully alert and watching her, studying her face intently, his dark eyes mere inches from hers. At first, she wasn't even sure if he was actually awake, but then the corners of his mouth had turned up slightly at the edges as he continued staring, not even blinking. It unnerved her.

"What?" she asked as she leaned slightly back and away from him, pulling the sheet with her.

He opened his mouth to say something, but gingerly reached a hand to his neck, a look of slight confusion playing across his features. Selina quickly sat up and poured water from his bedside pitcher into a glass, handing it to him and watching as he carefully took small sips. He winced as the soothing liquid slid down the back of his throat, a mixture of pain and relief. Still, he never broke eye contact with her, even as he carefully returned the glass to its rightful position and then reached out to her.

"You have freckles…so light…just around your eyes," he whispered hoarsely, his trembling fingertips hovering so close to the smooth skin of her face that she could feel him even though he never actually touched her. "The one and only Selina Kyle…unmasked, completely. No makeup." He let a heavy pause linger in the air and then exhaled a breath she had literally felt him holding. "You're….beautiful."

Selina bit her lip, unprepared for the flattering remark. Unprepared for him to be cognizant of his own state just yet. Unprepared for him to be so damn aware of _her_. She averted her gaze to the machines that were beeping softly on the other side of the bed, wishing she knew how to read the vitals they put out.

"How's your head? Does it hurt? Your vision is ok." She tilted her head and regarded him with slight worry etching her features. Betraying her own façade. _Damn him_.

He watched her fight the emotion, clinging to the walls around her as they threatened to crack. _This_, he wasn't prepared for. Her trying to keep him at a distance even though he had nearly given his life for a cause he thought they had taken up together, in those final moments. Maybe he had thought wrong. His head _did _throb, after all.

"Selina…why are you here?"

His question was multi-layered, and she didn't miss the hidden meaning behind it.

"Why are _you_ here?" she shot back, pulling away from him. "I'm not the one who flew a bomb out over the bay."

"I asked first."

She backed up off of the bed and planted her feet on the floor, crossing her arms as she regarded him silently. She was wearing one of his black t-shirts, a fact which didn't go unnoticed by him. It clung to every curve, leaving little to the imagination. He had to admit, it looked a hell of a lot better on her than it did on him.

"You know, I never thought the first time you woke up next to me, wearing my clothes, would be like this."

Selina rolled her eyes. "I guess it's a good thing your ability to be sarcastic is still intact, since the rest of you isn't in such great shape."

_And this isn't the first time I've woken up next to you_, she added silently in her head. She turned her back to him and contemplated walking out of the room. This isn't how she thought their first conversation would be. Instead of celebrating the fact that he wasn't practically a comatose patient anymore, they were going tit-for-tat the way they had back when they'd first met. She thought that perhaps they'd be over that by now.

Apparently, so did he.

"It was the autopilot," he finally said, and it stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to him again.

"You said there _was_ no autopilot."

"I didn't know if it would work."

"So you were still prepared to die."

He swallowed. His throat was killing him. "If I had to."

"You lied to me."

"You _stole_ from me."

Hot tears welled up behind her eyes, threatening, and she blinked a few times to keep them at bay. "But I was never dishonest with you about who I was."

Shaking his head and sighing, he wondered if she knew that the catch in her voice gave away her unshed tears, anyway. "No, you weren't," he admitted. "You made your motives clear from the beginning. So, who is Selina Kyle since she got her clean slate?"

"Who's Bruce Wayne going to be since he got his?"

His eyebrows went up. God, this was getting hard. Why were they dancing around each other like this?

"What are you talking about?"

"You should probably talk to Mr. Fox."

He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes for a moment, giving himself time to focus through the dull ache. Things were beginning to make sense now.

"How many people know, Selina?"

"That you didn't disintegrate over the water outside of Gotham?" She raised her painted fingernails and began counting off. "Fox. Myself. Blake. And-"

As if on cue, the door opened behind her and they both fell silent. Dr. Thompkins looked between them with raised eyebrows, but said nothing. The first thing Selina noticed, however, was the small but genuinely warm smile that passed over Bruce's tired features when he registered who had joined them.

"I'll take that as my cue to go," Selina said quietly. She began to back up, but Bruce reached a hand out and stilled her. Something passed between them – an unspoken language that only they could communicate with – but she understood his point perfectly, and he, hers. She wasn't running. She'd be just outside the door. She nodded at him and then left him alone with his old friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Thompkins stood rooted to one spot for a moment, trying to process what she had just walked in on.

Meanwhile, Bruce was mentally kicking himself, because he could see the intrigued expression on his old friend's face. This woman, who was once like a mother to him, would not let this slide.

"I'm glad to see that my weaning you off of the meds for the last two days brought you back to the land of the living, but what was that all about?"

He blew out a quick breath. "Nothing."

Leslie knew there was more to the story. It was obvious. She had spent all week trying to get a handle on this mystery woman who had shown up with Bruce - who wouldn't let go of his hand the entire time she was trying to assess his injuries that first day, who stayed by his side every night but seemed distant when it came to discussing him. Were they friends? Lovers? Secretly married? Something else entirely?

Instead of peppering him with questions, however, she lowered her head and set out to check him over, purposely avoiding his gaze. The truth was, she was more concerned about assessing him physically than she was mentally. Bruce had been much of a loner his entire life, letting very few people into his circle. The more she heard back from Lucius Fox about the full extent of what had just taken place in Gotham, the happier she was to see Bruce had someone here looking out for him.

"Your wound looks good. How tender is this?" she asked, pressing lightly under the bandage on his rib cage she had just pulled back.

He didn't wince, which was a good sign. "It's still sore, but I imagine it could be worse."

"It was much worse a few days ago. You're lucky it was a deep flesh wound but missed any internal organs."

Bruce's head jerked up. "Days? How long have I been-"

"About a week," she interrupted. "I heavily medicated you for your own good."

She listened to the strong and steady beat of his heart, took his blood pressure, and took out a light pen to check his eyesight. He kept his gaze trained on it as she moved it across his face – another good sign. The only sign of immediate discomfort came when she began checking the pressure points on his forehead and temples.

She frowned as she watched him bunch the bed sheet up in his hands, clenching it through his pain. "Is there pressure in just the front of the cranium?"

"Everywhere, I guess." He rubbed his eyes, frustrated. "So where are we? How did I get here?" He was trying to piece things together, and he slightly remembered some of it. The sounds of voices, aircraft, the rumbling of a car beneath his aching body, the stillness of the house.

"Princess Royal Island, British Columbia. Fox called me and asked me to drop everything, said he was flying you up here on one of the company's private aircraft. I didn't ask questions, Bruce. I knew if he was reaching out to me, you were in bad shape. We changed decoy vehicles a few times, and twice changed aircraft. Part of me didn't want to know then, and doesn't want to know now what led up to this. I know you saved your city, and since I'm standing here looking at you, I guess that's all that's important right now."

"No," he rasped. "_We _saved the city. Selina, she…if she hadn't eliminated the threat, I'd be dead right now. I guess we'd all be dead right now."

"Ah, I see. So the two of you have got different spots, but you're the same animal."

He was blindsided by this comment, but it made immediate sense to him.

"She's….complex," he finally offered. He knew it was a gross understatement, but it was the best word he could come up with at the moment.

Dr. Thompkins held his gaze, knowing she could make him squirm. He watched her watching him, and knew exactly what she wasn't saying. Because despite his current state and all of the things she didn't verbalize, they were all of his exact thoughts. He had been going crazy since the first time he had laid eyes on Selina Kyle, and especially since that night she had first kissed him. He kept drifting back to her and her taste. To the amazing way she smelled. To the brazen way she had stolen from him. To the brave and unselfish way she had come back to his aid and taken down Bane right when he had needed help the most. To the vulnerable and caring woman he had woken up to this morning.

"Does she know how you feel, Bruce? You care for her." The latter half of that was a statement, not a question.

He ran his fingertips over the pressure points between his eyes and shook his head. "Care? What does it mean to _care_, anyway? I've given my life over for years to rid the streets of criminals. I haven't had means, motive or opportunity to even get to know someone since-"

"Since Ms. Dawes."

"This isn't about Rachel."

"No, I imagine it's not. But it's also not about your _inability_ to find love, Bruce. You secluded yourself away from the public eye for years."

"Maybe it was supposed to be that way," he mused, remembering how Selina had come to Wayne Manor before he had made himself leave it. He was never a believer in fate. He probably never would be. But their accidental meeting may have been the best example of fate working its way into his life, even if she _had_ robbed him of his mother's necklace, his fingerprints - and temporarily - of his dignity. She challenged him then, and continued to challenge him now.

Leslie sighed and took his right wrist, gently uncovering the IV lines that had both medicating and providing him nutrients over the past week. "This is going to sting a bit," she said as she continued to loosen the dressing. He watched as she placed an adhesive bandage over the site and carefully withdrew the needles, one after the other. He didn't feel a thing, but he did notice the several drops of blood that creeped to the surface of his skin even as she moved to wipe them away with gauze. This was the first time in years that someone other than Alfred had tended to his wounds…

"Alfred!" He jumped up, startling her and nearly toppling the tray of equipment she was working with. "Does he know, Leslie? Does he know that I'm alive? The way I left things with him…"

She stood straight and used whatever strength she had to hold him to the bed. "Bruce, relax! He knows. Just relax. Relax."

His face tinged with slight embarrassment from the outburst, but he knew she understood. Alfred didn't have many people who truly understood him, either, but Leslie was one of them. Her friendship with his butler was also of the …complicated…type.

"He was relieved when I spoke to him, Bruce. He sees you like a son, you know that?"

Bruce shook his head, a range of emotions passing through him. "We had exchanged some words the last time I saw him. But he's still the closest thing I've had to a father since…since my parents."

"He wanted you to live. A real life, Bruce. Life outside of the Batman."

"Maybe I'll get that chance," he said thoughtfully.

There was a long pause between them as she leaned casually against the side of the bed, really carefully regarding him. Despite the bumps and bruises, there was a lightness – a hopefulness – about him that she had never seen before. There would always be that bit of stubbornness and determination about him; that would never change. But to see his mind free of the weights that he had clearly left behind in Gotham eased her mind a bit.

"You know, I can't stay more than another day or two," she finally said. "You're going to be fine, but you still have a recovery ahead of you. I don't want you up and about yet, today. Those are _my_ orders. Pretend I'm Alfred for the time being."

A small, satisfied smile played at the corners of his mouth. "You're going to have to work fast to adopt a cockney English accent if you want me to get behind that. You know, maybe yell at me to make my own bloody bed once before you go."


	5. Chapter 5

For an area that had been cut off from the rest of the world due to its severe winters, the biting chill in the air had little effect on Selina as she skillfully cut through the maze of trees surrounding the cabin's property. This is how she'd been letting the tension ease its way out of her body for the past week – by tapping into her inner feline, darting between trees and around the piers that guarded clear ocean waters for as far as the eye could see.

It helped her ditch the armed guards that Lucius Fox had staking out the property, too – no doubt assigned to keep she and Bruce safe despite the fact that they were on a remote patch of land that allowed for just 17 visitors at a time, none of whom she'd seen on her daily exercise jaunts. In fact, she'd stumbled across more wildlife than she had humans, and despite feeling out of her element, she had to marvel at the scenery that nearly stole her breath away every time she stepped beyond the cabin's front door. There was certainly nothing like it anywhere near Gotham.

She unconsciously picked up her pace, switching from a leisure jog to an active sprint as she thought about the words she had exchanged with Bruce before his doctor friend had come into the room. Both of them had had their guard up, feeling each other out, trying to see who would say something incriminating first. But, incriminating on what scale? Revealing guilt and blame over what had taken place back in Gotham, or drilling right down to the literal and figurative heart of the matter…where they went from here?

She tried focusing on her breathing and the expansion and contraction of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled tight, short breaths that puffed in front of her eyes like clouds of mist before they evaporated. When that didn't work, she tried focusing on the sound of her feet as they pounded the frozen ground beneath her. But it was no use. It seemed the harder she tried to clear him from her mind, the more that images of their short-lived but emotional conversation filled her mind.

She had been startled that he'd finally come around to being fully awake and out of his medically-induced haze to begin with, and suspected that Dr. Thompkins may have been reducing his doses of medication without telling her. Selina wasn't a woman who was used to being caught off-guard, and to open her eyes this morning to Bruce's intense gaze watching over her had been more than a little unsettling. She had been having a dream about him – one so vivid that it had taken her a moment to gather herself once she'd woken and discovered that the real thing had been watching her while she slept.

Where his nights had seemed to be filled with torturous terrors that haunted his mind, hers were of the lustful, carnal nature – always starting with the kiss she had planted on him that night at the masquerade, and ending with the two of them in a tangled mess of sweaty, sated, satisfied limbs on the rooftop of Wayne Tower.

Her mind always seemed to skip over how they got from Point A to Point B, but did it really matter? Point B – which always seemed to begin with her lips traveling the length of his lean, muscled torso – was much preferable to the nightmares that had consumed her for the first two evenings after he had survived the wrath of Bane and they had been airlifted north of the border.

Her reaction to both the night terrors and the sexually charged dreams should have surprised her, given that there was a fine line between trust and distrust in her world. Although she had always considered herself an expert on balancing both perfectly, since that last day in Gotham she had lost her footing and had fallen hard.

For months while he had been God knows where after that first meeting with Bane – when she had no idea that she was leading Bruce Wayne, of all people, to a merciless beating at the hands of one of the most notorious and elusive terrorists in the world – she had denied her attraction to both the man in and out of the Bat suit. She had busied herself with all of the ornamental belongings that took up her world in real time, vehemently denying to herself during quieter, colder moments at night that she had harbored anything but disdain for Bruce Wayne's _type_. However, she had already found out that his "type" wasn't really who he was at all.

"_That's a brazen costume for a cat burglar."  
"Yeah? Who are you pretending to be?"_

The answer that he had given her at the time had rolled off of his tongue smoothly, with what she had read as implied sarcasm and an attempt to level the playing field she had lain with her biting remarks throughout their dance. But looking back on that conversation, after Bane had literally made Bruce Wayne vanish off the face of the Earth, she perfectly understood what he had been trying to tell her. Bruce Wayne, the eccentric billionaire and social climber, Gotham's golden playboy, wasn't who he really was at all.

In the end, when she turned the BatPod around and came back to take out Bane just before he really _was_ going to snuff out Bruce's life, _that_ is when something in the back of her mind connected with the man who was laid up in a fancy suite in a cabin in a corner of the world where no maniacs could find and harm them. Here, they could find a way to be whole again. Or could they?

Selina wasn't a woman who was used to down time, nearly always finding ways to fill her spare minutes – usually ways that involved getting herself into dangerous situations that she had to kick and claw her way out of. But during the time that lapsed this week while he had been out of it, she had done a bit of research on the history of the Batman in Gotham. Growing up in that area, she had a rough timeline in her head of when the Batman first appeared. Because his identity had never been made public, however, none of the sensationalistic journalists out there had one clue as to _why_ an otherwise ordinary citizen would take it upon himself to become a vigilante and the city's protector.

Selina now yearned to know the real reasons behind his decision to don the cape and cowl, but also silently chided herself for her hypocrisy. Perhaps Bruce's reasons were both as clear and as stark black as her own decisions to leap from rooftops and work her way up through the ranks of the city's elite criminals.

She gradually slowed her pace to a quick walk as the cabin came into view again, taking long and deep breaths in an effort to normalize her erratic breathing. She assumed that perhaps his conversation with the good doctor had wrapped up, and wondered if he wondered as to her whereabouts. The moment that had passed between them prior to her leaving his room had prepared her for a continuation of their discussion, although she truly also wanted him to devote time to healing himself properly. Could he really heal when they were busy throwing words back and forth at each other? They had only said so little, and already he had made her feel things she had never felt before – and that was scary.

With any other men in her past, it had been about using them and abusing them, sometimes coupled with a lust and desire that lasted about as long as a drunken buzz – 24 to 48 hours and she was gone, looking for a new _toy_, looking for her next target. Only with Bruce, the lust and desire she felt was tenfold, bordering on need and true feelings, and that pissed her off. Selina Kyle hadn't needed anyone in years…not since before she had lost her mother. She was a child then, and she was a woman now. A woman who, in her adulthood, had never depended on anyone or anything.

Gone were the memories of her neglectful, bastard father, and of "friends" she had left behind in her old neighborhood. She had become who she was as a result of both her struggles and her strength, and she prided herself on it. But then that night at Wayne Manor had come along, and things had been just fine when Bruce Wayne was just another mark she had stolen from. The only difference was, she had been caught and things had turned upside down when he reappeared in her life at the masquerade. That's when the situation got fuzzy.

Her frustrated sigh echoed into the frigid air as she made her way up the front steps of the cabin wearily, ignoring the frustrated and sideways glances of the guards she had evaded. She needed to stop feeling as if she needed him, but her ability to be anywhere other than in the same room that he occupied often proved to be fruitless once she was back inside of the walls of this house. Taking a detour on the way to his room, however, she threw open the door to her own (mostly unused) suite, peeled the damp clothing off of her tired body, and decided that a hot shower was in order.

There were few luxuries in life that Selina adored as much as stolen jewelry, but warm water inside of marble-tiled walls was one of them. Water and warmth had been hard to come by for so many years, that she took neither for granted at this stage of the game. She turned the stainless steel knobs down to a favorable temperature and let the spray of hot water cascade down her body, closing her eyes as she lathered herself and attempted to work some of the nerves out of her system. The problem, however, was that any time she closed her eyes, all she could see were his dark ones staring back at her.

_In her mind, he was there – pinning her soft body between his hard one and the cool marble wall, his lips pressed tightly against hers as he smiled against her mouth at her resolve slipping away. Her hands, which she was telling herself should be used to fight him off, were fisted in his wet hair while her lips softened under his demanding kiss. He was then running his hands up the back of her thighs, shoving her legs apart and settling himself in between as he lifted her up to anchor around his waist. Despite the water temperature, the heat radiating from her was all uniquely Selina, and she rolled her hips against him to reward him for his efforts. Her breathing was ragged as he devoured the slender column of her throat while he pressed urgently against her, not even bothering to be gentle about the way he crushed her to him. That was the way she liked it…hard, fast, rough, all-consuming…._

Selina's eyes flew open and she slammed her palm against the wall in frustration, the force shaking the glass doors as she shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Then she leaned over and turned the knobs all the way around, knowing a cold shower was now her only option before she represented herself to one Mr. Bruce Wayne.


	6. Chapter 6

She hadn't come back to his room in three hours.

He had tossed, turned, fidgeted, unable to rest knowing that, for some reason, Selina was around the property doing something to purposely avoid him. He had all but given up, sighing at the absence of her, when the door creaked open and shut.

He had barely heard it, and it was just like her to easily sneak up on people. The only reason he registered the sound at all is because the only other sounds occupying his mind were the annoying silence of her abandonment, and the throbbing that seemed to move around his head like clockwork. When the door finally pushed its way open, part of him exhaled in relief, listening and watching as she shuffled to the foot of his bed in the still semi-darkened room.

Then she just stood there for the longest time, blinking, the air thick with a tension combined with comfort, if there was such a thing. She had hoped he was sleeping, but was both relieved and frustrated that he was not. The vague scent of her wafted toward him, all clean soap and shampoo, and he envied the shower that she came from. He rasped a light, tired laugh at the thought that, for once, _he _envied _her_ and not the other way around.

"For the second time today…what?" she asked, a sheer hint of annoyance clouding her features.

He loved watching that rapid succession of vastly different emotions march across her face, because it truly meant that Selina Kyle was _feeling_. Her eyes exposed that she wanted to say so many things, like she wanted to explain everything, and yet the words remained stuck deep in the back of her mind where she'd locked them away. It was no bother to him. He could lay there and stare at her for hours if it really got her going.

"Did you…enjoy your run?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her voice was lightly curious, but it was clear that she was ready to pull out her arsenal of hostility if she needed it.

He held up his hands in mock surrender and then reached over and flipped some kind of switch on his bedside table, pulling a tray across his lap and turning it around to face her. A large monitor made up of six brilliantly-colored HD camera panels stared back at her, each one showcasing a video feed of various parts of the outside of the property.

"What the…?" she muttered and then shook her head. This was just like him. Barely back from the dead and already with his hands all over some fancy electronic toys.

"I talked to Fox. There are hidden panels like this in every room of the property. _Every _room," he said, with an edge of slight disbelief to his voice.

A smirk played on her lips. "That's a little creepy."

She was edging slightly closer, her arms crossed over her chest as her eyes bore into him. Purposely, he let her hold his gaze for just a moment and then he unabashedly swept his eyes up and down her body in slow appraisal. She had ditched the black t-shirt from earlier in exchange for one of his once-crisp white button-down shirts, which she cinched at the waist with a belt and paired with what he assumed were a pair of black stretch or yoga pants. Although this material all molded to her perfectly, he was sure she'd be more comfortable in her own belongings.

"I asked Fox to have someone send whatever belongings they could gather from your place, too," he stated, ignoring her earlier comment. "I'm sure you'll be happy to give me my wardrobe back."

She absolutely hated the way he made her feel when he looked at her so intensely, the way goosebumps involuntarily sprouted over the canvas of her skin. However, as much as she hated it, she couldn't look away. "Everything was probably destroyed or taken in the uprising," she finally answered. "I grabbed what I could before we left, but I didn't have much time."

Concern sucker-punched him and she noticed his bicep slightly tremble as his eyes registered the slightest hint of surprise. It was the second time today she had referred to the events of the prior week, but it was the most direct statement she'd issued so far. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily and clenched his fingers into fists.

"Remembering?" she asked, and her voice had gotten softer, a whisper.

He shook his head minutely. "I keep going back and pulling bits and pieces up, connecting it all together, right up until I hitched that bomb up and flew off. Everything after that is a blank. Fox, he….he told me that you found me, passed out and floating in the escape pod." His voice was whispy, breathy. "You didn't tell me it was you."

"What does it matter who it was? Somebody would have found you."

She tried to disguise her voice with indifference, but he knew better.

"What were you doing down by the water?"

"Blowing up the BatPod. As far as I was concerned, you were dead. I figured I'd do you one last favor and not leave anything behind that could have connected you back to the Batman."

He would have smiled if she hadn't taken on such an indignant tone. And if she hadn't been so full of complete and utter shit.

"You already had what you needed from me, Selina. Why do me any favors at that point?"

A sound like that of a bitter chuckle escaped her throat as she narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't flatter yourself. I was doing myself a favor, too. I would have been connected back to you just as easily. Who knew if what you had given me was really the Clean Slate, or just some bullshit file you doctored up to get back at me?"

His jaw twitched, then tensed, and anger set across his eyes. Why did this woman have to be so God damn infuriating?

"You know, for someone who claimed to have wanted that fresh start so badly, I'd have figured you would have used it by now."

_Crap_. Her heart thundered against her ribcage so hard that she was sure he could hear it. She hadn't expected him to check up on her, to know that despite her yearning for a new life, she hadn't been entirely ready to let go of Selina Kyle's past just yet. She'd thought she had a few more days until his head was back in the game.

"You want me to use it?" she asked defiantly, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I'll go get it. I'll use it right now."

He sighed and ran his index finger up along the bridge of his nose, pinching at the sudden ache was developing under her piercing glare. That sudden ache that scolded him for always trying to see the good in her. She would be the death of him. He was sure of it. Nuclear weapons had nothing on this woman.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," he said, his lips pursed in a thin line as she felt the jabs of his disappointment, of his hurt. "Do you think that I don't know what it's like to create an identity that's forged in imprisonment?" he continued, his voice a low growl. "Trapped inside of a life that's so fucked up, half the time I never realized what I was struggling to be free from? I created a persona to battle injustice and to fight for a city that nobody else believed was worth saving. It's almost improbable at this point for me to consider that _you _were the one who helped me save it in the end."

The back of his throat had started to ache from his upset, ache as he forced back everything, and that was depressing as hell for him. It had been a week since his injuries, he had been awake for less than half a day, and it was miserable. He was miserable. He had thought the fatigue had let up, but now she had wound him in a ball of maddening, tightening nerves, and he felt like he was soaked in sickness all over again. He leaned back against the pillows and ran a hand through his hair, watching the swirl of the room as he did so.

For a moment she paused, watching him, feeling shame creep up before she pushed it back down with all of her concern for him. The barely-there light in the room washed his features out, accenting the dark circles under his eyes and the black swath of stubble that hadn't been shaved in more than a week, enough to resemble a real beard depending on which way he hung his head.

She inched closer to the bed as he watched her with a guarded expression, then collapsed next to him. The need to reassure herself that he was okay was greater than her need to keep picking a fight with him. He flinched as she landed against him, but he made no effort to push her away as she laid along his length on her side, propping her face up with one hand. She ran the palm of her other hand up the curve of his side, his neck, his face, his hair. Her warmth seeped through her fingertips onto his skin, much like it had all week, except this time he was very aware of her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, a small throaty noise that barely registered with him but made his heart surge, nonetheless. He knew she was, but he didn't comment back. He would let her live with the twisting pangs that she felt at the moment, because he knew that this was only the first of many battles they would eventually have where all of the pent-up emotions would need to come tumbling out.

He leaned forward, into her, already close enough that the shift would have been barely noticeable to the naked eye. Then gently, as her hand curled up and around his forehead, he let his lips drop on to her forehead as he breathed her in. Both of their eyes slipped shut, and for the moments until they needed to use words again, an easy sleep passed over them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The first time that he awoke the next morning, it was very brief. If someone were to have asked him about it later, he wouldn't have remembered beyond the vague blur of it. Selina was still out, making up for the loss of sleep she'd suffered on the nights where she'd sat up worrying, watching, waiting. She was curled tightly into his chest, her face relaxed and unguarded as he counted her shallow breaths. That's all he remembered. The counting had lulled him back to sleep.

The second time Bruce woke up, it was the first time in eight days he could remember that he didn't mind. He didn't mind that he was awake. He gingerly turned on his back, rubbed his palms down his face and just laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as he inhaled a huge, cleansing breath. He turned his head to look at his sleeping beauty, who had rolled away from him at some point and was now settled on her stomach, her arm propping a pillow beneath her chin. If she had felt him move, she didn't let on. He squinted beyond her at the clock. 11AM. They had practically been hibernating.

His head rolled back and he stared at the ceiling some more. He blinked. He wasn't tired. Not really. Well, he wasn't back to a hundred percent. That was for sure. There was a bit of drowsiness lingering behind his eyes, like he'd still taken a tad too much medication, enough to clot his mind with a little bit of fuzz. But it wasn't…all consuming. Not like yesterday. It wasn't so overpowering that it made him want to roll over and just let the exhaustion pound him miserably back into unconsciousness.

He felt oddly disconnected from himself. He sat up after several undisturbed moments of staring into the darkness, realizing he just felt…blank. Nothing coiled in the back of his mind. The headache was gone, at least temporarily. The room didn't swirl now that he was upright. And when he commanded his aching extremities to move, movement happened. He clenched and unclenched his fists, staring at his hands that were rough, bruised, scarred-over. There was no shaking, nothing. No delay between the thought of movement and the result. And yet, there was still some sort of barrier there that didn't make sense to him.

He wiggled his toes for good measure, satisfied when his feet, too, seemed to be in working order. Then something dawned on him, like a light clicking on in his head, and he looked around until he noticed the pill bottles and the paper sitting on the bedside table. He stared at the bottles for a long time, rolling them in his hands, hearing the rattling of the pills as they spiraled inside, though the sound seemed far away from him. He held a cocktail of drugs – everything from anticonvulsants to sedatives, anti-anxiety agents and tranquilizers – and bit back the urge to throw them across the room. Bruce Wayne never healed his body with the aid of modern medication, not even in his most desperate hours. Pills were for the weak-minded, and he couldn't be bothered with any of that now.

He glanced over at Selina again, who was still cocooned in her peaceful slumber, and then put the pill bottles back before unfolding the note. His name was scrawled across the top of the page in careful script, and his lips mumbled along with the words as his eyes struggled to focus in the dim lighting:

_Bruce,_

_The time has come for me to return to my other patients. I know that I'm leaving you in good hands, and it makes the transition an easier one for me to accept. I couldn't have imagined after all these years that I'd get the chance to see the man your mother and father would have hoped you would have become. I used to fear there would never come a day when I'd look at you and not see the broken, wounded boy who struggled with an internal pain that none of us could cure. Now, I see a man who used his resolve to save a city and is finally looking for peace on the other side. If anyone deserves happiness, it's you, Bruce…now that you've found her, don't let her go. Even on the days where she'll do and say anything to keep you at arm's length, think about your own past and the reasons for your own journey. And when it seems the world is splitting down the middle for the two of you, remember now that you have the power within each of you to __rise__ above. _

_I've left solid forms of the drugs you'd been receiving intravenously. I know that you won't take them, but I've at least given you that choice. If you experience any setbacks, don't hesitate to contact me – Lucius knows how to find me, and he's made ample provisions for you to remain secluded for as long as you need to. For your sake, I hope that soon you'll get out and see the world you've been missing for so long._

_Fondly,  
Leslie _

Bruce sighed and folded the paper back up, trying to keep the barest hint of smile from reaching his lips as he realized that she'd drugged him sometime overnight again. She'd probably given Selina something, too, at least in terms of an anti-anxiety dosage. That explained his lack of symptoms, and why he didn't feel like he was going to degenerate into a quivering pile again, either. He wasn't confident at guessing how long he might feel this way, but he'd deal with that…later.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, shoved the note and pills into a drawer, and then attempted to stand on his own two feet, bracing himself for the weakness and dizziness that was sure to come. Just like that day in the pit when he first tried to stand. This time, however, the unsteadiness never came. The floor stayed beneath his feet, exactly where it was supposed to be. He stretched himself, raising his arms over his head, stretching until it hurt and until his body couldn't hold it anymore. God, it felt good to be able to move again.

He walked carefully around the expansive room, searching for the bathroom door he knew he had seen Leslie go in and out of several times. Which direction was it, again? Ah, yes, there it was, just off to his left. Each step was a journey, his strides stiff and his eyes watering as small bits of pain seared through him. But then he'd made it to the doorway and fumbled around until his fingertip hit the light switch, and then he quickly pushed the door shut behind him to avoid waking Selina – if he hadn't already.

It was when Bruce's eyes had adjusted to the intrusion of light and he turned around that he got a good look at himself in the mirror. A week's worth of beard growth swathed his face, which looked pale and was still slightly bruised above his left brow. Dark circles hugged his eyes, and his hair was a snarled, greasy mess that stuck out in every direction. His mouth also felt pasty and gross. He needed a shower, badly. He almost didn't know where to start.

He turned all around again and observed his surroundings. There was an oversized soaking tub to his right and a glass-encased shower to his left. In the middle was a long triple vanity, upon which laid trays of medical supplies and a list of directions for cleaning and re-bandaging his wounds. In the mirror, he noticed that behind him hung a variety of his shirts, shorts and pants on hooks that dotted the walls. Leslie really had thought of everything.

Gingerly peeling back and disposing of the bandage over his wound, he replaced it with a waterproof one and – for extra precaution – waterproof tape around his ribs before he opted for the shower. After sliding the sweatpants down his legs and guiding himself by holding on to the gleaming railing on the shower door, he stood under the spray for a long time. Just standing. Staring. Staring without even realizing what he was doing. Completely absent of thoughts, he just let the water pound down around him in a rush of beating warmth.

* * *

Selina woke up alone. She blinked, dazed with sleep, and then a wall of panic seized her when she realized that Bruce wasn't in the bed. He wasn't in the bed. For the first time in a week. Where the hell?...

She sat up and took stock of the situation, combing her fingers through her hair, noticing the clock by the bedside read 11:42. How had she been out that long? She noticed that his sheets had been pushed back against the foot of the bed and that all traces of the tubes and wires that had been his life preserver all week had been cleared away. She was unsure if she should worry that he was progressing so quickly, or to be happy that he felt well enough to get up and move around.

She dropped her feet to the floor and was about to make a mad dash around the house looking for him, when the sound of running water hit her ears. The shower. Of course. Now it made sense. Leslie was helping him get cleaned up for the first time in…well, what probably felt to him like forever. Selina breathed a sigh of relief and flexed out her own limbs like a graceful cat before deciding that a shower sounded good to her, too.

She peeked her head out into the hallway, hoping for the smell of coffee to lure her on a detour through the kitchen, but apparently the doctor now thought it too late for breakfast foods. Selina shrugged and began loosening the now-rumpled clothing that she'd thrown on mid-day yesterday, dumping it haphazardly on the floor as she reached the bathroom. Her routine this morning – or rather, early afternoon – was a quick one. A brief rinse of her body, scrubbing of her teeth, and a gargle with mouthwash. She hurried because she wanted to see him, but she wouldn't admit this to herself. Wouldn't admit that it had been hard waking up to the empty space across the bed, that in one week's time she had become unused to sleeping alone. It was downright weird, this sudden need to have him in her life. This person she could verbally spar with one minute and then be comforting the next. It felt so fucking wrong, that it actually felt right. Maybe. The jury was still out.

Quickly towel-drying her hair and then shrugging on the black silk robe that had mysteriously shown up since yesterday, she hurried back down the hall to his room, pausing just outside of the door to quell some of her nerves. Yesterday she'd had no idea what she was going to say to him. Today, she still didn't. But there was some kind of hope, some excitement, rising in her chest that she couldn't push down. She just wanted him to be _well_. Verbally sparring with a man who was in a drugged haze and flat on his back just didn't have quite the level of…satisfaction.

She pushed her way into the room and frowned when she found it still empty, the bathroom door still shut securely, although the water had been turned off. She'd give them some time, she thought, and set her mind on tasks such as stripping the bed and replacing the sheets with others she'd found in the linen closet. When she was finished with that and had located a laundry room and stashed the old sheets there, she went back and cleared away his water pitchers, half-filled cups, and ice packs, leaving them all in a pile in the sink of the otherwise immaculate kitchen.

It was when her waiting had hit the 45-minute mark that Selina actually began to worry. She hadn't even heard voices coming from the other side of the bathroom door, which was unsettling because she knew that Bruce Wayne wasn't exactly anything less than stubborn when he was somewhat healthy and _not_ dealing with the effects of PCS. She'd have imagined that by now, Leslie would be in there ordering him around and trying to get him back to bed, so when the silence became too much to bear, she gently rapped on the door and called out his name.

"Bruce? Everything alright?"

A split second later, she heard the distinctive sound of utensils falling and crashing against the floor, scattering everywhere, and then Bruce cursing loudly. Without giving it another thought, she pushed the door open, stopping in her tracks when she realized that he was alone in there. No Leslie, nobody helping him…just Bruce, staring at his slightly shaking hands that were clasped weakly in his lap as he sat upon the edge of the vanity in a pair of dark sweatpants. The remnants of a shaving tray lay at his feet, strewn across the floor, and he lifted his head to look at her, not knowing what to say.

The silence stretched again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just…resigned. And then finally, he spoke.

"Leslie's gone."

Selina arched an eyebrow. "Gone? Like gone for a walk?"

He shook his head. "Gone back to her patients. She had to. It was time. And I…I needed a shower."

"And you had to go all Batman on the bathroom?" she smirked as she surveyed their surroundings. "You could have woken me. You know we're better when we fight side by side."

The duality of her statement hadn't gone unnoticed by him, and a lazy, pleased smile pulled slightly at his face before his eyes dropped to the mess he had created. "You may have a point. The shaving kit seems to have won this round."

Sometime in the past hour, he had gone from being symptom-free to feeling like a slightly shaky bag of skin and bones again. He would have ten good minutes, then several bad ones, and the cycle would repeat itself. The drugs were already wearing off, and the more he wanted it go away, to stop reminding him that he wasn't slightly _broken_, the more his brain pelted him with worry and other slightly ugly things. Ugly until _she _had walked into the room.

He watched as she searched her mind for a comeback, and when there was none, she seemed to have come to some sort of decision instead. She bent down and began retrieving the contents of the spilled tray, and then squeezed his knee lightly. "Okay, let's see…" she muttered as she leaned over the pile of things she'd set next to him on the sink. "I'm used to doing this on legs, but it can't be much different."

Before he realized what was happening, she had grabbed a bottle of shaving cream and had a ball of it in her hand.

"Wha…what?" he managed to ask before she was slathering it all over his face, and he was sputtering, trying to snake away from her. But she was toe-to-toe with him, guarding his much larger body with her much more agile one, and she grabbed his chin with the hand that didn't have the foam all over it and held him still.

"You want this fuzz…this beard…gone, and you're in no condition to do it yourself. Besides, you're starting to look like that _cripple_ who snuck up on me with a bow and arrow. I think you need this."

Then she came at him with a razor and a smile. He widened his eyes, but held still for her. Then he felt the rasp of the blade against his cheeks in careful, even strokes.

"Tilt," she commanded, and he leaned his head back. The razor slipped down his neck.

"You're very trusting considering you know my track record," she purred, grinning slyly.

"Well, I figured if I can survive a nuclear bomb, I can probably survive this," he joked, and the momentary lightness of his voice surprised even him.

He watched both her and the mirror as she worked, the fluidity in her wrists allowing her to clean him up rather quickly despite the delicacy of the situation. A few more strokes, and she was coming at his face with a towel to wipe the extra shaving cream off.

When she was finished, she pulled the towel slowly away and they caught each other's gaze. Then she traced her fingers over the side of his face, satisfied with the smoothness that now replaced his days-old growth. Now he looked more like the Bruce Wayne she had gotten used to…younger, even, despite the worry lines around his eyes.

"Selina, I…"

She placed a finger over his lips and shook her head. "Shh…don't."

And then she leaned in and kissed him, brief and light, nothing at all like the last two times her lips had met his. This was more a sign of affection, and he should have let it be, but he couldn't. A kiss that had lasted a mere two seconds ignited something in him that wanted _more_.

He reached out and splayed his fingers across her hips, pulled her to him again and kissed her in a way that left them both breathless. His tongue rubbed along her teeth, slid into her mouth, and her fingers kneaded the skin across the back of his neck. He let his weight settle back against the vanity as he wrapped his arms around her back and held her tight against him as she teased, searched, explored. She tilted against him, and the things she had collected earlier went crashing back to the floor again, crashing, smashing…plink, plink, plink. The scent of her assaulted him again, and he let himself drown in her as he ran his lips against her own in a quivering, halting journey.

They finally broke apart, panting, the edge of the vanity digging into his throbbing back as he blinked and breathed through a stunned and aroused stupor. "Bruce…we can't," she whispered against his cheek, flooding him again with memories of their dance. "You're hurt. You need to heal." She hoped her voice didn't betray her, because her body was screaming "Go, go, go" while whatever shred of common sense she had knew this wasn't the right time – not yet.

"Doctor's not here to give me orders," he lightly growled back, unwilling to break physical contact with this woman he marveled at. The two sides of her were so different. He wanted to know everything…everything.

She pulled back first, rolling her eyes, wiping the corner of his lip with the pad of her thumb as she did so. "Doctor's gone, but don't think you're getting away with anything. I'm in charge, now. And I say it's time you get back to bed."

His muscles twinged as he watched her back up, out of the door and into the bedroom, a _come hither_ smile on her face even if she didn't mean for there to be.

"I guess I'll make this small sacrifice," he whispered gruffly as he hobbled around to face the vanity. He ran some cool water over his face and stared at himself again before he followed her. There was still the paleness, the bruising, the gauntness that had settled in over the past week, but at least he wasn't looking quite so haggard anymore.

"Sometimes I really hate you," he whispered to his reflection, raw and deep against his throat.

Then he went after Selina.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks to all who have been reading, favouriting, and commenting on this story. It was originally going to be a one-shot, one-chapter deal, so the feedback has been inspiring! I tend to work long hours outside during the day, so writing at night has been a good way to relax at the end of a day. I do go back to working both day/night hours in the next week, so I'll be updating this as quickly as I can and hopefully won't leave you guys hanging for too long. I have a lot of ideas on how I want to handle the next few chapters, which includes moving the plot along a little more quickly. I realize it's been moving at a snail's pace, but I do feel strongly that there's a lot of emotional depth for these characters to explore. Since we won't get to see that play out in a Nolan film, I'm sort of having fun revealing the issues that Bruce and Selina are facing at my own leisurely pace. :)

As to Leslie's appearance in the story, that's just something I threw in for fun - another tie for Bruce, who has few ties in TDKR. This was meant to be a continuation of what might happen BEYOND TDRK, so while I realize that Leslie was never mentioned in the movie, I figured since this is my story, I can start exploring facets of Bruce Wayne that Nolan didn't have time to. I've never read the comic books and don't intend on butchering any of the actual background story of who Bruce is connected to, so if I do, let me know. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Selina Kyle was not a shy woman. There were many things she was good at, all of which she'd rather _show_ than boast about, as throughout her lifetime, words had come to mean so little while actions meant everything. Actions meant being _in_ the moment, distracting your mind with something visceral, something real, in a world full of fake people and fake things.

She was good at using her body – a little bump and grind, a twist beneath the sheets, and a kick in the ass on the way out the door in the morning. She was good at backflips, dropkicks, hand-to-hand combat and other weapons in her _arsenal _that she'd utilize as the situation called for it. She was good at stealing, at acting and evading, at anticipating the next moves of those around her and of those who hadn't even infiltrated their way into her world yet. Her _modus operandi _was to strike before being struck, to catch before being caught, and above all – to trust no one.

Then there were the two things that Selina Kyle absolutely was _not _good at. The first was family. Or relationships of any kind, really. What was family, anyway? She'd lost all of hers so long ago that the thought of ever being part of another made her shudder. Selina and a loving home had always been like an oil slick over water. They didn't mix, they were cataclysmic, and no sane person would ever want to force the two together. It was disaster waiting to happen.

The second was the sick thing. She and illness – or broken bones, bruises, general wounds to the body, and long-term ailments – just didn't tolerate one another. If you stopped moving because of illness, the hunter became the hunted. Nursing injuries was like nursing weakness. If you continued to let it fester, it would eventually overtake you, then chew you up and spit you out until you were just like the rest of society…needy, vulnerable, exposed, defenseless.

Then Bruce Wayne had come along and ruined it all.

Over the course of the next few days, she had mushy, endearing, sickeningly sweet thoughts about him that sometimes made her question her _own_ mental well-being. Had she been hit in the head, too, and had somehow forgotten about it? The only thing that saved her was that she had plenty of X-rated thoughts about him, too. It should have made her feel awful, or at least somewhat guilty, about having pornographic thoughts about a man who was mostly confined to a bed while he dealt with head trauma. The thing about Selina was, she didn't do guilt well, if at all, and she knew by the way he looked at her that the same kind of thoughts were never far from his mind.

She knew by the way the color of his eyes changed when he looked at her – like he wanted to ravage her like he was a drowning man and she was the shore he was desperately trying to swim to. She knew by the way he'd pull her against him just before they'd both drift off to sleep, his palms, warm and shaky, slipping slightly under her shirt to caress her skin in slow, lazy circles. And it wasn't as if she'd made the mental judgment to stop fighting him, to stop questioning what _this _was, to let him breach her emotional and physical space barriers. She just had no other ideas of what would make it better for him…better for _her_.

She opted for silence in some of his worse moments, letting the quiet hum of the house soothe his frantic thoughts. Other times, when his eyes would turn glassy, with what almost seemed like a daze, she knew that simply massaging his temples for a while would push him past the pain. The dark and heavy stare would gradually regress until he looked at her and blinked, and then she knew he was really seeing _her _because a slow and lazy smile would work its way across his features.

She never stopped to think that during all of the other _in between _moments – when she cooked for him, when she read to him from her favorite books to pass the time – that she was revealing facets of her personality that no amount of nausea, dizziness or sleepiness could keep him from storing in his memory. He remembered everything about her, from her favorite bath scent (lavender and chamomile, he knew, because he smelled it on her every night) to her favorite foods (wild salmon and brown rice with a side of grilled vegetables). Of course, he knew she'd be out of there faster than a bolt of lightning if she thought he'd been storing any of that information away for use at a later date, so Bruce was content to hang on to every word that she threw at him to comfort him. Despite the fact that it was comfort, Selina Kyle didn't say anything she didn't mean.

It was on day eleven – or maybe day twelve, he'd lost count – that she had guided him through the doorway of their room and down the hall, let him lean on her down a short flight of stairs, and helped him deposit himself on a luxurious, overstuffed, sand-colored sofa that sat in the middle of the main living room. She had been forcing him onto his feet and on these little trips around the house each day, reading up on his symptoms and deciding that, if he was determined to go without medication, then it was best to slowly introduce him to areas with different shades of lighting, different colors, different layouts in terms of space. He would hold his frame tersely until they would stop moving, as though he expected himself to start twitching if he relaxed his muscles for a moment. If he made it from the bed to whatever destination she had in mind for them, she would reward him with a shoulder rub, and he'd let his eyes droop shut again as she relaxed him.

Today, they were curled up on that oversized sofa – nested comfortably next to a crackling fire that she had started earlier that morning – and she was reading to him from her favorite book of those that had been recovered and shipped from her old walkup in Gotham. He was having a mostly good day so far, and she could tell because he was stubbornly determined to pick on her about how similar she was to the story's main protagonist.

"_Please_," she scoffed from her position tucked under his right arm, her head resting lightly against his chest. "I'm nothing like Scarlett O'Hara."

Bruce snorted against her hair, a slight rumble of a laugh that told her he vehemently disagreed.  
"She's seductive…and provocative," he whispered against her ear, sending a slight shiver down her spine. "And she's a fighter."

Selina turned to face him and gave him a _look_ – that pointed look he had come to know so well, the one that said not to argue with her. So of course, he did.

"She always wants to be the center of attention," Selina pointed out. "_So_ not my speed."

"You _do_ have a flair for the dramatic, however," he mumbled, and if not for the sickness weighing him down, she would have sworn his eyes fucking sparkled at her. "And she's a thief."

Selina's mouth dropped open. "A thief in _what_ regard?"

"Well, she stole her sister's boyfriend. She stole from that soldier she killed. And she stole food-"

"So someone else could eat it," she interrupted him. Her voice had taken on a sharper tone, and he knew he'd hit a nerve because she pulled back like a kid who'd gotten caught breaking their mother's fine china and needed a place to hide.

His arms instantly tightened around her, using whatever strength he could muster, and he held her in place as she debated struggling against him. If she'd really wanted to, she could have taken him down in one fell swoop, and they both knew it. But in her head, she had quickly calculated the risks of forcing him to fight against her versus the reward of just letting this moment pass without her fight-or-flight instincts kicking in. They couldn't afford that setback in his recovery. Slowly, she began to relax again, but she made a clear point of slamming the book shut and tossing it across the floor, where it landed with a heavy thud that made him wince.

Bruce rested his head against the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling, an unfocused gaze on his face. This room had skylights, he finally noticed, and it was a grey, overcast day that dotted the expanse of the roof with fluttering snow. The sight brought back memories for him, memories of a time tucked away that had ultimately shaped him, molded him, and pre-determined that he would choose to be a symbol…more than just a man.

"You know, the first time in my life that I can remember stealing anything, I was just a kid who fell down an old well and was scared out of my mind by a bunch of bats," he mused as he continued to stare straight up. "I didn't steal again until a long time later. I was in my early twenties, in a west African port town, having traveled thousands of miles to seek knowledge of the criminal world. And I realized, then, that the first time you're forced to steal not to starve…you lose many assumptions about the simple nature of right and wrong."

Selina let out a heaving sigh as she looked over at him, not at all prepared to deal with his little trip down memory lane. It's not that she didn't understand what he was saying, and it's not that she couldn't appreciate where he was coming from. But with that snippet of information, he clearly expected her to share something about herself in return…

"Don't do that internalizing thing with me, Bruce," she whispered, though a harshness rolled off of her tongue with it.

He grunted and shook her off, scooting over until they weren't touching. "I wasn't _internalizing_, Selina. I wasn't _judging_. I was merely making a point that I _understand_. That I've been where you've been."

"I've never said you didn't understand."

"And that's the problem," he retorted as he struggled to stand, shaking off the way she reached out to offer assistance. "You're fine with using words as long as we're just using them to talk about right now, _this_ day, _this _minute. But God forbid we mention anything about yesterday, anything about the _past_, you-"

"I WHAT?" she interrupted, her voice raising enough decibels to make him completely tense up. "What do you want from me?"

He stared at her with a dull, consigned misery hooding his gaze, heaved a sad sigh that wracked his entire frame, and then threw his hands up as he shook his head. "I don't know….I don't know. It just scares me that you think maybe this is better than the alternative of working through the past."

When she had nothing to say in response and a heavy silence hung in the air between them, he pushed his way past her and began to walk out of the room. She watched him count his steps, anticipating the next one, willing his feet to move steadily and to push his healing body forward. He made it as far as just beyond the coffee table on the far side of the room when the phone he'd kept in the pocket of his robe rang, jarring them both out of their thoughts.

Only one person had the number that connected to them. Lucius Fox.

His whole demeanor changed instantly when he reached for the phone, she noticed. His back straightened, his jaw set, and a veiled expression set over his face that allowed him to betray nothing to anyone who might be a witness to his end of the conversation.

"Yes?" he answered with authority, and she noted that he didn't answer using his name, clearly for security purposes that she might not have even considered if the shoe was on the other foot.

She'd put her dagger away as she watched and listened, as the way he carried himself as "Bruce Wayne" was so different from the shell of a man who had been like a sheet of glass to her hammer all week. But then she saw him flinch and his expression change, watched him run a palm down the side of his face, watched him close his eyes and sigh before he glanced over at her, mumbling softly into the phone…

"Are you sure it was her?...I don't know…I'll let her know….I know, it doesn't give us a reason to keep waiting on it. Thanks, Lucius. I'll be in touch."

She watched him tuck the phone back into the robe and wring his hands together as he approached her again, and the veil was gone now like the receding of the tide. He had bad news written all over his face.

"What is it?" she asked, and he motioned for her to sit but didn't use any words. He moved with careful, deliberate strokes to rejoin her, to sit beside her, and she tried to read his face. She wanted him to just rip it off, whatever _it_ was, like a Band-Aid…rip it off, let it sting, let it bleed…whatever.

"Does the name Jennifer Rathmore mean anything to you?" he began, but he already knew the answer. He wanted to see that recognition on her face, and he did, immediately, because she didn't try to hide it.

Selina bit back on the lump that was already rising in her throat. "Y…yes. She was my roommate. Why?"

"Gordon's crew was down in the Narrows trying process the rest of the bodies that had built up during the uprising. They um…they found her, Selina. And she had a piece of paper on her that had your name on it."

She stared at him for a long set of moments, her arms folded over her chest, waging a semi-private internal war over the words he'd just spoken. It was dismaying, was her first thought….dismaying that one of the only people she'd really liked since her family, one of the only people she really _trusted_ since her family, could be gone just like that. Gone. Gone. Gone. Not that Selina had ever expected to see Jen again, but the whole thing was just dismaying in a crushing, soul-killing way.

She was not alright.

Bruce watched her carefully, aching over the silence that hung between them like a black hole, sucking the life out of everything. Her whole demeanor had changed, and it reeked of depression, or maybe grief, or disappointment, or…he didn't know. He didn't know, and he couldn't bring himself to ask. And so the questions burbled under his already-tense skin, jumbled, jittering, waiting to explode.

She was not alright. And so he did the only thing he could think to do in that moment. He reached over and pulled her arms away from her gently, and then reached under them to wrap her into a firm, solid hug. It was a warm thing, the hug, and Selina didn't know what to do with it. Didn't know what to think. For a moment, there was a blind panic at being embraced, especially at being embraced by someone who was wounded, who was healing, who was someone who she could so easily _rage_ at. But his warmth seeped in, wrapping her in a blanket. His soothing whispers fell around her like the beat of water from a warm shower. It was almost…nice.

He held her like this for a few moments, dropping soft kisses onto her forehead, and she stayed there, letting herself be embraced even when every one of her internal red flags was waving wildly. She stayed there because she inhaled and exhaled rapidly, and he smelled like…he smelled like Bruce. All musk and man and earthy odor, and the smell was soothing. It was all just…

Nice.

Finally he felt her unclench and he slowly pulled himself off of her, but kept one hand on her leg as she snapped her gaze back to him and spoke softly.

"I taught her the lay of the land, Bruce. She was still just a kid. I was the street-smart one. She thought the uprising…all those thugs…that it was all just fun and games."

Her dark hair had fallen like a drape over her cheeks, concealing her face, and he tenderly pushed it back behind her ears and watched as she struggled internally to put that wall back up and not betray any particular emotion. He could veritably see the process of her gathering her wits and forcing herself into the here and now. So he decided to help.

"Selina…you know what this means."

She shook her head, sighing at all of the ugly worry that leaked out of her. But she knew it was time. Time for their clean slate. Time to let go of Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The thing about a clean slate is, one can either view it as a death…or as a resurrection.

Bruce himself felt like he had been resurrected so many times, simply typing his name and date of birth into a computer would never erase _who_ he was, _what_ had molded him, _where_ he come from, _who _had been instrumental in shaping the various stages of his life. He would always be the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne. A computer system removing him from every database in the world would never change that.

What bothered him was the distinct lack of enthusiasm that Selina had as she trudged back into the room with the laptop and USB drive he had sent her to retrieve. In her palm she held the reason why she had been willing to steal his fingerprints, the reason why she had mixed herself up with underground enforcers who would have gladly put a bullet in her head without a second's hesitation, the reason why she had agreed to help Bruce on that final day in Gotham. This was what she had wanted all along, so why did the thought of erasing everything about her past leave her feeling oddly bereft?

Are you okay?

The words lingered on his lips, waiting to be spoken as she settled herself back in beside him and brought the laptop to life with the push of a button.

Are you okay?

He didn't want to know the answer. Because he was both positive that the answer was no at this point, and that she'd likely slap him across the face for asking, anyway. She sat looking distinctly uncomfortable, hunched, her arms wrapped around her stomach. And here he thought that _he_ had been ridiculously reticent about admitting when he wasn't well.

He gave her what he hoped was a look that resembled smirky and seductive – trying to reach equal footing with her, _something_, _anything_ - reaching for the laptop as he did so. "I was going to say _ladies first_, but since I've already been declared dead, I may as well make it official."

She raised an eyebrow but otherwise continued to look off into the distance. "Okay," she said warily. Noncommittal.

When the data entry screen came up, he briefly closed his eyes to calm himself, his fingers hovering over the keys, as a memory hit him out of nowhere—

"_Remember when you left Gotham?  
Before all this. Before Batman.  
Seven years you were gone. Seven  
years I waited. Hoping that you  
wouldn't come back…._

_You only see one end to your story._  
_You aren't Batman anymore – you_  
_have to find another way. You used to_  
_talk about finishing. About life beyond_  
_that awful cave."_

Without another second's hesitation, Bruce opened his eyes and practically pounded his name and date of birth into the data entry fields, clicking on the 'submit' button before he lost the nerve. Then he watched in fascination as everything he'd ever known about himself on paper disappeared without a trace in a matter of minutes. Stock investments, news items, business portfolios…gone, gone, gone in the _click_ and _whir _of modern technology.

When the program was finished and reverted back to the data entry screen again, he slid the laptop over and lightly nudged her shoulder. "Your turn."

The very brief moment she sat there in indecision was one of the longest of her life. He was barely processing this, wasn't he? The things she'd done would be erased, but it's not as if she had the resources to just pick up and start a new life where she wanted, how she wanted, on her own terms. She would always be Selina Kyle, _the one who doesn't have the luxury of leaving daily anxieties behind_.

"It must be nice," she remarked coldly as she watched her fingers move under their own accord, typing in the information and then hovering one perfectly painted nail over the entry key.

"What?"

It was that same flippant tone she'd used with him that day at the masquerade.

"Having a backup plan. Having the whole world at your disposal even if you don't have a legal name anymore," she replied scornfully. May we _all_ dwell in the lap of luxuries of our second chance conveniences."

She rolled her eyes for good measure, and it was all Bruce could do to suppress a chuckle.

"You're going to have to do a little better than that," he taunted. "Or I'll think you're just pouting."

Her mouth dropped open for a moment, but she promptly turned to him with steely eyes. "At least you'd be thinking of _something_, then, since _your_ clean slate involves everyone else doing your thinking for you."

"Well you know, having to think for myself after flying an atom bomb out of a city has been a little difficult," he deadpanned. "I thought that's what _you_ were here for. To keep me on the straight and narrow."

"There's nothing straight and narrow about me."

"So you clearly want me to believe."

"You can't domesticate a stray cat, Bruce," she spat back bitterly as she began to pace the floor, refusing to meet his eye.

He cocked at eyebrow at her choice of words. _Stray_? "In case you'd forgotten, _dear_, I didn't pick you up and drag you home with me." He spoke through clenched teeth now, trying to keep the storm at bay. "I woke up, and there you were. You could have gone anywhere. Been anything. But you came here."

It took her a moment to regain her composure as his heated words – the words _she_ had said to him just two short weeks ago - traveled through her veins. Spinning on her heel, angry dark eyes met angry dark eyes as he rose from the sofa to meet her gaze head on. "I had thrown you to the wolves once before," she explained evenly. "Somebody had to make sure you survived in one piece this time."

"Ah, that's right," he scoffed. "You and your ambiguous morals. Selina Kyle doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. She's always looking for the exits. You know this place better than I do." He gestured around them. "Two weeks to figure out all of the ways out, and yet…you're still here."

"If you want me to go, I'll be out of here faster than you can limp across this living room."

A chill ran through him. He knew she was bluffing – tried as she may, her eyes still gave away all of her feelings – but at this point, he was done fighting her. He couldn't stop that slow burn of panic that frantically built higher, stronger walls around her every time he managed to make the smallest of cracks in her exterior. He had fought enough external forces in the last two decades of his life. Gazing at her with a dull sort of calm, he leaned over and pushed the laptop toward her.

"If you're going to go, go. Just make sure you finish this before you do. Otherwise, you'll find yourself back behind bars before you even hit the border."

With that, he turned and began to walk away, leaving her shocked and mentally floundering in his wake. Stress and surprise and fear pulled at her senses, mostly because his choice had seemed so final. There has been no doubt forced on him by a blanket of drugs clouding his mind. In fact, this might have been the most clear-minded he had seemed in a week's time. She had been waiting for that moment when he fully slipped back into his own self identity, but she hadn't intended on being the one to pick at his deep psychological wounds and forcing that on him.

Was it possible to miss someone you never had? Was it possible to instantly miss someone who was standing beside you a moment ago, but now all that remained was empty air? She missed him so much already that it actually _hurt_, which was impossible because Selina Kyle had never wanted to attach herself to someone else. Attachment was suffocation.

So was loneliness.

She had watched his retreating back hobble up the landing and toward the kitchen, and heard the distinct sound of his footsteps moving around the wood floors. Drawers slammed, followed by more shuffling, and then silence. Ignoring the open laptop staring her in the face, she crept up the stairs after him, noting that he had ditched his robe and tossed it on the railing that curved into the kitchen. She wanted to pick it up…to smell him on it…but she left it, instead checking both ways toward the kitchen and down the hall to his room. When she was satisfied that he was somewhere behind closed doors, she stealthily moved down the hall toward the room where her own things were stashed, stepped just inside the door and—

Gasped when his face hovered right in front of her. He was mere inches away, close enough that his body heat wavered in the space between them. He slid his hand around her waist and pushed her up against the door. His palms, warm but rough, slipped under her shirt and caressed her forcefully . She let out a sound of shock when his lips came down on hers, but quickly silenced as her body realized what was happening for her, and pressed herself up against him greedily. _This _is how it was supposed to be. How _they_ were supposed to be.

One of his hands roamed down, down, past the curve of her ass to her thigh. He grasped almost desperately and tore her leg up against his hip, caressing the underside of it and grinding her against him. Selina saw stars. She shifted, panting anxiously when he pulled away for a moment. His lips ran down the side of her neck, leaving an evaporating chill behind. She twisted her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, careful to avoid too much pressure. He paused for a moment, as if her gentleness with his condition hadn't gone unnoticed, and then sucked her breath away again when he roamed back to her mouth in a sensual plundering.

In the euphoria, in the heaven that was him actively, voluntarily touching her, kissing her, mending her. She didn't think to question things, didn't think to wonder why this was happening. It felt…beyond what she had imagined. Him kissing her filled a throbbing, painful void, and she wanted it, wanted it so badly she couldn't think straight, couldn't see straight. She just wanted _him_.

"Bruce."

His name fell from her lips in a single, shaky syllable, and he leaned back to frame her face. The look they exchanged now was one of trust. Complete, undeniable.

_I know you_, that look said. _You won't give up on me again. _

And then he was feasting on her again.

His warm panting buffeted her, his skin sliding along her own as he ravaged her like she was the light he had finally seen after being in the dark for too long. Everything…every nerve ending, every muscle, all of it…burned with lust as he built her into a pile of needing. She curled her fingers, digging into his forearms, his shoulders, his back. He groaned, and the rumbling sound of it washed down her throat and filled her with her own low-pitched moan.

"Buckle up," she purred.

* * *

**AN: **I know this is a shorter chapter than normal. The next one is going to be a lot meatier (and sexier). I think we all know this is the inevitable part of the two of them, so I didn't want to give it TOO much buildup, but I felt it had to be respectable and still deal with a lot of that raw emotion coming out. I've said it before, I'll say it again...I feel these characters have a lot of emotional depth to explore, and I enjoy doing so with them.

Thanks again for all of the follows, reviews and overall feedback. Keep it coming!


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: **A million times THANK YOU to all of you who have been commenting, favoriting, and following this story. I was a little nervous about the expectations for this chapter, but I've found your constructive criticisms to be very helpful thus far, so keep them coming!

I gave my story an "M" rating from the beginning because I knew that this is where it would ultimately end up. The idea was always to delve into the emotional psyches of Bruce and Selina, but the amazing chemistry between them meant that chapters like this could not be avoided. I truly felt, from watching the movie, that if given the chance to see their story play out, we would have seen them ultimately becoming both emotionally and physically compatible. So there's your warning, folks...lots of steamy sex ahead.

* * *

**Chapter 10: **

Bruce's ribcage rippled with the strain of breathing. Not because his motions tired him, but because this was Selina. They had been dancing around this moment for months, if he was being honest with himself. He remembered thinking as far back as the masquerade how beautiful she was, but it's never been just about her physical qualities for him. She was _fire_. Burning…burning….but in such a deliciously scorching way. If Bruce Wayne was leaving this world today, he thought, _then what a way to go_. And then he wasn't thinking, at all…

At least not while she was doing _that_.

"Jesus Christ!" he wheezed when her roaming hands tore his pants from his hips and found home. He kicked the pants toward the direction of where his previously discarded shirt laid on the floor behind them, his body instinctively thrusting into her hand as she wrapped her fingers around his length.

"_What_?" she asked naughtily as she arched an eyebrow at him. "I was just making sure you're _up_ for the occasion."

He tilted his head back as she licked and sucked her way up his neck, while at the same time cupping him, kneading him, tantalizingly slowly and _hot_ in her hands. He reached over her head and braced himself against the door, but he couldn't hold on to reason. A throbbing pressure was already building up, climbing into something unbearable, and he reached to still her arms as he pulled her back toward the bed.

"_One_ of us is still way overdressed for the occasion," he growled against her ear, sounding more like his alter ego than he probably realized. The sound only spurred her on further, however, and she fell back against the bed in a graceful arc and decided that a little _foreplay_ was in order.

"I guess that all depends on how you feel about the whole visual experience," she smirked as she splayed her palms across her lower abdomen, hooking her fingers briefly into the sides of her pants as she wriggled to push them down her legs. She held one foot out and ran it down his bare chest, careful to avoid his healing wound, and was rewarded when he gathered his senses and had the pants pooled on the floor in less than a breath.

She smirked and then drew her hands up slowly, intentionally cupping her own breasts as she peeled her shirt up and over her head. He took the bait, leaning forward and grabbing the offending material, helping her get rid of it in a smooth movement. Taking advantage of this angle, she reached up and lightly scratched a trail across his pectorals, licking the skin around his nipples as she did so.

A breath jerked through him as he caught her gaze.

"Touch me," she hissed, and so he did. He let himself fall gently against her, covering her lithe body with his much larger one, his hands sweeping down along the curves of her waist, down past her hips, and then underneath, roaming deliberately slowly from her outer to her inner thighs.

Her back bowed and her hips arched off the bed to meet him as he lightly trailed his fingers to her pulsing center, pressing his palm into her forcefully just before tearing away her panties with a loud grunt. Her bra was next, and then they were in an even state of undress as she stretched up flat against him and claimed his lips in a rough kiss. He moaned again, sounds tumbling from his mouth to hers…sounds that were supposed to be words, but instead landed against the back of her throat and were swallowed by her mewls of pleasure.

He held himself up by placing his hands on either side of her head, then pulled back to really _look_ at her, letting his dark gaze sweep unabashedly over her body before coming back to rest on her gaze. There was so much rawness he saw in her eyes that it literally stole his breath away, and for a moment, all he did was hover over her and take a deep breath, like he was preparing himself for…something. And in the sudden stillness, the calm before the storm, she wondered if this was necessarily a good idea. What if he was running on pure adrenaline and endorphins, and this made his symptoms worse after the fact? For a moment she was concerned, and she reached up to place a palm to his cheek, holding him there, staring, barely two inches from his face. His hot breaths briefly laved her skin, but then he ripped the thought away from her as he began to work his magic.

She bit down hard on her bottom lip as his hands found her alabaster breasts, spinning her tension like a spider web as he pushed, pulled, kneaded, _rolled_ them in his hands before pinched her nipples roughly. Helpless to do anything but to try to find an outlet, she thrust forward, slippery, sliding, clamoring for attention that was so _close_ and yet still so _far. _

"Impatient girl," he rasped.

Bruce shifted and placed his knees on either side of her hips, dug them into the bed so that he was almost kneeling, and then he swept her under the thighs with sure, strong force. Ever the control freak, she briefly resisted until he grunted and hooked his muscled arms around her legs, pushing until her knees were pressed between their shoulders and her toned thighs opened wide for him. Her arms fell away as she forgot herself and relinquished control for just a moment, but that was all he needed. A streak of blinding, unspeakable sensation sent her head curling backward into the mattress as he pushed inside of her with a low, throaty groan that almost sounded like a deafening roar to his own ears.

"Shit," she panted, trying to remember if sex with anyone had ever felt this way before. She knew it hadn't, but then again, coherency wasn't really happening for her right now. The friction in her lower body as she accommodated his invasion sent a kaleidoscope of spots in front of her vision. There were flaring sparks, brilliant, like seeing various colors for the first time.

Bruce watched her reaction and clenched his jaw, his deep well of sexual patience already abandoning him. He gave up on the idea of slow and sensual and just felt the need to take her, take her, take her. There'd be plenty of hours in the day for another round…or two.

He dropped his forehead to hers as he pulled almost all the way out of her, then dropped back in with a long, solid thrust that literally felt like he was spearing her in half. She clawed desperately at his back as he left her again, filled her again, left her again, filled her again. Each thrust was slow, deliberate, rough, punishing, and her back ached in a glorious way as he sunk her into the mattress, his pelvic bone grinding against hers a method of exquisite torture that she never wanted to end.

"So…am I…still being…unrealistic…about what's…in my pants?" he asked in deep, throaty grunts that held each of his breaths in a vocalized vice. He laughed seductively at her expression as he pulled out and jammed back into her again. He was working, really working. His fingers gripped the back of her thighs tightly, and every time he came back to her, she felt closer to her climax, inch by thrilling, agonizing inch.

"If you're….asking me…to rescind my comment," she gasped as her body started tensing, "you're going to…have to get me to…the finish line, Wayne." Her breathing wouldn't slow for anything in the world.

He could see it pass across her face, that brief instant where the peak began to threaten. She was gripping him inside of her tightly, like a glove, and then she was pulsing around him, milking him, her eyes rolled back in her head as his name broke on her lips.

"Bruce, I'm…Oh." Control snapped. Her voice utterly left her.

Using whatever strength he had left, pulling from some deep resource, he drove into her one, two, three more times and then they both went flailing, falling, gasping. It was a rutting finish, violent and desperate. "Fuck," he whispered against her face as his hips shook under their own accord. "What did you do to me?" She held tight to his shoulders and closed her eyes as relief curled her spine and her hips pushed against him like a wave, the aftershocks causing him to still twitch inside of her.

He reached to push sweaty hair away from her eyes as he collapsed briefly on her shins, as if they were the only thing holding him up. They probably were. He rested his head on her shoulder for a moment, biting there tenderly before he pulled out of her and collapsed beside her. She let her legs fall to the mattress, then, just limp. Limp and utterly spent.

They both paused to catch their collective breath as they laid there silent, enthralled, still. Selina had never really done the whole "closeness" thing after a roll in the hay, usually because she was kicking the guy out of her bed and out of life as soon as they finished. But now, with what had transpired between she and Bruce earlier in the day, she didn't want him to doubt her intentions.

Taking a deep breath, she turned on her side and found him staring at her, his eyes awash with some deep, dark, desirous thing that she didn't dare give a name to. He looked at her like there wasn't a world outside of this room, breathing softly as he reached to pull her to him. His skin was hot against her own, soaked with a frenzy of sex and lust and whatever else _this _was. Whatever it was, she surprised herself by not fighting it and rolled into his embrace, staring at him lazily as he stroked his thumb in circular movements against the small of her back.

They were quiet for a long time, gently petting, but to her relief, not really holding. They hadn't even bothered pulling back the covers on the bed, so while lying there completely exposed, they took the time to properly explore each other's bodies. He laid soft kisses on the scars beneath her collarbone and along her ribs, while at the same time, she gently ran her fingertips over his healing stitches, grateful that the physical exertion hadn't forced them open. From there she examined the other bruises and healing cuts and scrapes across his arms, chest and shoulders, each one telling stories of the three prisons he had endured during his time as Gotham's savior, though she knew of only the most recent torment.

Bruce rolled over on his stomach and watched her as she continued her explorations, touching on each scar that was a legacy of sacrifice, giving, and generosity to those who would seem unworthy of it. But _she_, however…she was worthy. Worthy of his quest to find his father's path: a life of sacrificial love to save a broken city, to give them hope, and ultimately, yes, give him a new life.

His eyes began to grow heavy and droop, fighting fatigue as she massaged away his thoughts of past seclusion and self-imposed exile. But then, she finally spoke.

"Before…when you said that you had been declared dead…what did you mean?" she asked tentatively, knowing it could potentially make her a hypocrite to be asking questions of him when she had never exactly been an open book.

His eyes snapped fully open as he stared at her with muted curiosity. "Why do you want to know?" he asked as he moved to his side to face her. She felt the muscles of his arm stiffen.

"I don't know. I-" she paused, clamping down on her thoughts a little too late for it to do any good. "Because you…you _survived_."

"I did," he confessed. "Physically, but…"

He let the words linger, unspoken, in the small space between them.

_Not mentally_, she finished for him silently. She'd been there. Was there.

"My assets will be put to far better use helping to repair and bring life back into that city. In order for that to happen, Bruce Wayne can't exist anymore. The lawyers have taken care of it."

"You gave up your fortune?"

"Not all of it. Lucius always made sure the offshore accounts are intact."

"So you're…never going back?"

His tight expression relaxed, and he pondered this question for a few moments.

"Maybe, someday, a long time from now," he whispered thoughtfully.

"You sacrificed so much to save it."

"It's in good hands," he said on an exhale, but then couldn't push down the worry that gnawed at him. "But Selina, I need you to use the clean slate. Whoever tagged your name on Jen's body clearly felt like they had something to settle with you."

She shrugged indifferently. "More than a few people back in Gotham probably feel like they have a score to settle with me. I'm a big girl, Bruce. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can…" he said as his voice trailed away. He reached a hand up to trace the curve of her chin with the pad of his thumb. "I'd just prefer that you didn't have to."

She dropped her eyes at his admission, purposely looking away, the feeling in the pit of her stomach nourishing the defining thought that she didn't deserve the way he looked at her. Like she had never betrayed him.

There was another long, interminable silence as she blinked and focused on her fingers, on the texture of the blanket beneath them…anywhere but on him. But then he subtly started leaning into her more and more until their brows were almost touching, forcing her to confront the question that beat like a drum in the back of her mind.

"Why did you trust me?" she choked out, and he caught her heaving sigh on his lips and swallowed the guilt she carried. His mouth passed over hers softly, nipping, biting, healing, and then he pulled back and regarded her with such brutal honesty.

"Selina, my father once chose to trust a city whose residents gunned him down. He learned to look past the flaws and to see the good underneath. From the beginning, you told me things that I didn't want to hear, did things that brought me out of my comfort zone. You didn't care who Bruce Wayne was. It was a little bit of a shock, but it was needed. Besides, I meant it when I said that apologies don't suit you."

He watched as the haunted look slowly dropped from her gaze - while some of the confusion and denial she had been carrying, that had been holding her prisoner - slowly rolled off of her in waves. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and he caught the relief that fell away by wrapping his arms around her, capturing her mouth again, her lips willingly parting under his as they tasted, touched…savored.

It didn't take long for the fire in her belly to rekindle, and he didn't protest at all when she pushed him on his back, pausing to take the lobe of his ear in her warm mouth as she moved to straddle his waist. "I've got this one," she whispered slyly. "That is, if you don't mind me driving _stick shift_."

He choked on a moan as she gripped the base of him, expertly pumping before she ran her nails lightly up the underside and back down. Then she rocked a little, found the tip of him, and slid down the length of it, sighing as her body stretched to accommodate him all over again. His abdominal muscles flexed and tensed as her wetness settled around him, and his hands scrambled for her hips as she began to rock atop him like a wave out at sea.

This time, he was at her mercy. Completely, utterly.

He watched in fascination as her chest heaved with her efforts, her long hair swishing and barely grazing his thighs as she threw her head back, her eyes screwed shut with concentration, lips parted, face flushed. She ground into him in slow, counterclockwise circles while he hung on, barely, a starving want building in him that only she could satisfy. He guided her hips to find their rhythm, and then she was sliding up and down, up and down, until everything in her world was nonsensical and all she could focus on were the nerve endings where their bodies were joined.

"Dammit," she gasped as the pressure built with each passing second. Then his hands left her hips and trailed down, down, searching until they found her folds and he began to draw the pad of his thumb around in frenzied circles.

"Look at me, Selina."

Her eyes flew open and bore into his, deep and searching as she grasped desperately at his arms, pressing to keep his hands in place, her toes curling as an explosion tore through her lower abdomen. He reached back to hold her upright, to grasp her back as they finished, his insides warming as he watched her come undone in the throes of release. She panted and twitched against him, unable to control herself, and then fell against the juncture of skin that connected his neck to his jaw line, breathing in the musk of her favorite nook on his body.

They remained connected as their erratic heartbeats slowed, and he released a tired, sated sigh as the pounding in his head told him he'd probably be paying for this for the rest of the day and night, and probably tomorrow, as well.

"I think you killed whatever motor function I'd regained," he deadpanned, sounding almost drunk in his post-coital haze.

"Yeah, well," she mumbled tiredly against the crook in his neck. "You say you don't use guns, but I think you ought to have that thing registered as a lethal weapon."

* * *

**One more AN: **I love both writing and music probably more than the average person. A few of you have DM'd to ask about the inspiration behind the story title, and the line comes from a song by Keith Urban called "If Ever I Could Love." That song, as well as Daughtry's "Start of Something Good" and Kelly Clarkson's "Dark Side" have all been motivators for me getting these chapters cranked out. So if you want some ear candy to go along with the story, those are the ones I would start with.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: **Thanks again to all who commented on the last chapter of this story. I thought that last chapter was a hard one to crank out, but this one was even more difficult, knowing there are so many directions you can take these two after they first cross that line and make their relationship a physical and emotional one. I'm honestly surprised so many of you are still hanging in there with me, considering how slow-moving I've been with this. I promise that in the next several chapters, we'll see them leave their safe haven and head overseas. There are a few more things I wanted to explore on an emotional level for them, and because of that reason, this particular chapter should actually feel like a "part 1 of 2" - like a Chapter 11A, even if the next chapter will be called Chapter 12.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

_She had found her sitting alone in their small kitchenette, staring out the window at the darkness that draped Gotham like a sheet. She was pushing a small stack of money nervously between her palms, her fingernails drumming anxiously on the table._

"_You want to tell me what happened?" Selina asked as she swooped down in the nearest chair. She quickly put a fist down on the wad of cash, rattling the table and forcing the blonde woman to look up at her. _

_The burgundy curtains that they had hung billowed in the cool air that rushed in around them. A siren passed by outside, but the intrusion was a transient one. It was Gotham. There were always sirens. _

_Jen looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, her chin slightly quivering, but any unshed tears were held at bay. It was an unspoken rule between them – tears made you weak, pain made you strong. _

"_I did what you said, Selina. The first heist was easy. We moved on, to a club down the street. It wasn't as crowded so things were a little more difficult. He said he wanted to hit three targets tonight, but that second one just didn't feel…right. I recognized some of our old marks there. And you said to trust my gut, to get out if I had any doubt at all. So I told him no third tonight. He pretended to be ok with it, but then we got back here and…"_

_She lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal a patchwork line of black and blue bruises along her ribs, a laceration on her stomach, and a telltale backward 'G' etched into her skin, her own blood drying over it._

_Selina's lips came together in a thin line, disgusted. "I'm teaching you how to shoot a gun tomorrow. We can't have this shit happening again." She got up and made her way toward their bathroom, going in search of the medicine cabinet and the first-aid kit she'd learned to keep stashed in their apartment for such emergencies._

_When she returned to the table, however, her friend was laying face-down in a pool of blood, a piece of crimson-stained paper decorating her bullet-riddled body: DELIVER TO SELINA KYLE._

Selina woke up in a silent bubble, between one scream and the next in her dream, and so she made no sound at all. The way her heart thudded against her rib cage eased into a dull march as she became fully cognizant. Dreaming. Only dreaming. Vivid thoughts slipped away into a fog, and as was her routine nearly every other night of her adult life, she practiced alternating deep and shallow breaths until she couldn't remember anymore what had terrified her. Until splinters of dread stopped jabbing at her soul.

She took a moment to properly assess her surroundings – the mostly unfamiliar bed in a mostly unfamiliar room. Not with reclining features and safety railings like the 'sick bed' in Bruce's room. _Their _room. But there he was next to her, and here she was unable to stop herself from staring as she watched him inhale and exhale, marveling at the wondrous process of his respiration. Stray hair had fallen across his forehead, betraying his age and making him appear years younger, and she couldn't help but to admire how handsome he truly was.

_Weak_, she chided herself. _Feelings of attachment are for the weak_.

Selina brought a hand up to her face and wiped the last remnants of sleep away, wondering in the process what time it was. Still some time in the middle of the night? Maybe very early morning? Some time dark, is all the room told her. But she knew herself…sleep beyond this point was out of the question. She stretched languidly, a dull ache creeping through the muscles in her abdomen and thighs. _That's what hours of less-than-gentle sex will get a girl_, she thought as she slipped out of bed so as not to waken him. But it had been worth it. _So_ very, very worth it.

Knowing that she'd likely make too much noise fumbling around in this room for something to cover herself up with, she sauntered down the hall and grabbed Bruce's robe where he had left it draped over the railing, a hint of a wicked smile playing on her lips when she tied it around her slim figure. The next time _he_ went to use it, the smell of sweat slicked from their bodies would be the first thing to hit his senses, and she coyly hoped that it drove him just a _little_ bit crazy. Just a little.

She flicked on the light switch that illuminated the landing, slinking downstairs to where the laptop still remained in the living room from the day before. The sight of the Clean Slate program's landing page, still blinking with her name and birth date typed in, no longer caused all of the blood to rush through her body and ring loudly through her ears as her heart hammered in overdrive. Questions of what her future held still zipped through her frazzled mind, but the nightmare she had woken from this morning had all but made her decision for her. She couldn't risk any more past ties to Gotham. She hated and loathed and despised that mistakes from what already seemed like a former life could potentially catch up with her at some point. But truth be told, it bothered her even more that Bruce could be affected, as well.

_I still think there's more to you._

She was glad she could do this without an audience.

With a deep breath and a definitive nod, she quickly hit the 'submit' button and then turned and walked away so she wouldn't have to see Selina Kyle being erased before her very eyes. She didn't have to watch it to feel it. It would be the same as the feelings that had dominated most of her life – chains around a thumping heart, the hollow, rusty links building up faster than she could shed them, leaving her clouded with doubt and uncertainty during most of her waking hours. Except for those hours when she slipped on skintight leather and got to be someone bolder and ruthless. Someone who couldn't be hurt. Like wearing armor. Nobody had penetrated the invincibility she felt when she wore that suit, at least not until that final day in Gotham. When she had kissed him goodbye, she was sure it had been for good.

She shook her head to clear the thoughts away as she headed toward the kitchen, the rumbling of her stomach at that exact moment serving as a welcoming distraction. They'd worked up quite an appetite, and aside from that, she probably hadn't eaten in a good eighteen hours or so. When she pried open the refrigerator, however, she noted for the first time that whatever food they'd had on hand was rapidly diminishing. There had been plenty shipped, she remembered, but _where_ was it, again, that Leslie had said it was stored? She furrowed her brow and flipped through the paperwork that had been left on the kitchen counter. Medical notes on Bruce's condition…more medical notes…shipment receipts…ah, yes, there it was. A note scrawled in Leslie's handwriting, directing them that excess food supply was being stored in the underground garage unit.

_Well_, Selina sniffed, _that shouldn't be so hard to find. _She couldn't help but to feel, however, that she must have been losing her edge just a bit, considering they had been here for two weeks and she had yet to discover all of the hidden corners of this place. She was slipping, and that was unacceptable to her, especially considering that Bruce had been mostly incapacitated and that they'd sent the guards back to Lucius Fox days ago. Or rather, _she_ had sent the guards back. Bruce had been clearly less-than-pleased with her actions at the time, and she suppressed a wry smile at the memory of him trying to come up with a word to describe her decision at the time. Self-assured. Bossy. Abrasive. None of those had fit quite right, he'd said, and she'd enjoyed the roll of her name against his tongue when he'd finally mused that it was just Selina being Selina.

She slipped down the staircase off the back of the kitchen, the one that led to the smaller and more sparsely furnished guest unit that Leslie had stayed in during her time here. Clearly the garage entrance had to be this way, since she'd hadn't discovered it during any earlier trips through the rest of the house. Navigating the maze of hallways beyond the living quarters and flipping on lights as she went, Selina yanked another door open and was greeted with a long, downward-sloping ramp that clearly led to a garage bay of some kind.

"Bingo," she whispered as she practically sprinted to it. She'd almost forgotten that _rush_, that swift kick of adrenaline of nighttime exploration, and for the first time in two weeks, she didn't feel totally out of place. She examined the panels along the end of the wall, finally settling on a smooth grey button that sent the bay door lifting by its hinges, squeaking slightly as if it wasn't utilized often, and then a blast of frigid air rushed at her as the room revealed itself.

"Shit," she muttered as she pulled the flimsy robe more tightly around her and fumbled for a light. Her night-vision goggles _seriously _would have helped in a situation like this, especially when she clipped a cold, bare toe on something long and metal at her feet. "God damn it," she hissed. All this to satisfy a little hunger. It probably wasn't even worth it.

Or maybe it _was_.

Somehow, some type of motion-sensor light had been activated as she flailed in the pitch blackness of the room, and what laid before her eyes once they adjusted to the brightness of the intrusion had actually been enough to plaster a real, honest-to-goodness smile across Selina Kyle's face. Sure enough, there was clearly a large section of the floor divided off with what looked like a custom-built food pantry and walk-in freezer. That, however, wasn't what retained her interest. Rather, her eyes were focused on the row after row of shiny snowmobiles…the kind that looked expensive, custom, and fast. And even better, they were all in _black_.

"Six cylinders…four-stroke cycle…protective hood…DC outlet…high-beam night lamps…full-wrap windshield…digital tachtometer," she muttered appreciatively as she inspected it. She hadn't been on a snowmobile once in her life, but these bad boys were built like Bruce's Batpod, but on a sled setting. This was going to be _fun_, she practically purred in her own mind. She finally had a physical outlet for her pent-up energy. Not that the thought hadn't crossed her mind since a few hours ago that she and Bruce should christen every room in this house with a good fuck on the obscenely expensive furniture, but she didn't want to break the poor man. This would be better for her, too…a way to keep her distance when she needed to.

Spying a rack of snowmobiling garments hanging against the wall – also black, she noted approvingly – she grabbed a few sizes and was about to run out of the room and change, but then remembered why she had come down here in the first place. Her appetite was now truly the furthest thing from her mind, but she figured she'd get what she came for and at least fix something for Bruce to eat when he woke.

_Hmm…breakfast in bed…_

No, no, no. She'd set the breakfast _by_ the bed. At least now she had a distraction for her distraction.

* * *

The first rays of dawn that crept into the bedroom were enough to send Bruce rolling his face into a pillow to blot out the light. He blinked and hissed at the dull throbbing behind his eyes, but that was nothing compared to the sharp pains that pulsed between his shoulder blades and straight down his spine. It should have probably made him feel better that pain in other parts of his body finally outweighed the pain of his head injury, but truth be told, there was a tension wiring his entire body to the point that he was afraid he might break like shards of glass if he moved.

Clearly, he had overdone it last night.

_Last night._

He blindly reached a hand across the bed, already knowing he'd find nothing but cold sheets on Selina's side. He didn't know whether it should warm him that he knew her routines so well by now, or bother him that she clearly wasn't comfortable with exchanging morning-after pleasantries. The pleasantries had been difficult enough for her when sex hadn't been involved. Now that they'd crossed that line, he half expected her to have slipped away for good in the middle of the night. But he knew she hadn't. He always sensed when she was nearby.

_She's probably out for a run_, he thought, and then his mind was back to alternating thoughts about the pain pinching his body. His knee also raged with a quiet ache, joining in with the needles that gnawed at his central nervous system like a parasite. He crunched the pillow with his forearms, trying to think good thoughts – like about how he'd gotten every damn pain receptor in his body to come thrumming back to life in the first place. When he thought about the night before and how _right_ it had felt in those moments, it was like he was watching with a filter between himself and the memory, like his very own private, internal censor stood there between his brain and his mind's eye, taunting him. She had let him love her, touch her. _Oops, now you're in pain_. She had let him kiss her, caress her, mark her, brand her. _Pain, pain, pain_. It was like watching a black-and-white movie in slow motion and blurry. This was all new to him. And wonderful. And horrible. And exactly what he'd wanted.

He drew long, raspy breaths as his grip on the pillow slackened, and then he angrily tossed it across the room in an effort to make himself move. Bruce Wayne was NOT going to be a slave to the raw pain that would ultimately take up residence in every fiber of his being if he continued to glue himself to a mattress day after day. If there was one thing that he had discovered about the private hell that he had endured being stuck down in that pit that Bane had tossed him in, it was that the human body was only as stubborn as you let it be. The more you utilized it the way it was supposed to be utilized, the less there stood a chance that the crippling pain would actually _become_ who you are. Simply put, it was mind over matter.

He let his legs fall over the side of the bed, and he could literally feel his pupils contracting against the slow process of adjusting to the light as he felt around for the bedside table. His hand came in contact with something round, metal, and he squinted at the piece of paper on top of it. _EAT, _it simply said. Food. Selina had left him food. He supposed he should have been hungry, but at the thought of forcing anything down his throat right now made his stomach churn. He pushed the covered plate away and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a sense of déjà vu as he contemplated a shower. _Which way was the bathroom? _He wasn't even in the right bed. He pushed the last of the sheets away and fully righted himself, the coolness of the air hitting his naked body all at once doing little to thwart the twinges of pain that seemed to attack him from all angles.

His feet settled on their own accord, lumbering forward until he found the pants Selina had torn from him the day before, and he shakily slipped them back over his frame before he wandered out into the hallway. _Left_. _His room was left_. He inched his way there, pausing only to twist the handle on the linen closet and grab a few clean towels, and then made his way into his familiar bedroom and master bath. By the time he got there, he felt like his body had accepted the movements with the first groans of building momentum. Not bad for the first few minutes of the day.

He allowed his hands to limply drop the towels on the vanity, then went to turn toward the shower until light spasms in his back made him consider the alternative. The jacuzzi tub sat there empty, beckoning, unused throughout the duration of their stay here. That was about to change. He started the water jets and turned to the temperature dials, testing it with his hand, fiddling with the knobs until the streams of water that ran across his fingers were comfortable, soothing, warm. The roar of the water hummed like a thick, solid wall as he dropped his pants, gingerly stepped under the froth and settled onto one of the benches.

_This wasn't so bad, actually_, he thought. One of the jets was pulsing, pushing water against the tight knot in his lower back, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that it felt damn good. Actually, the hurting, slow burn that had a grip on his entire body seemed to ease in a matter of minutes, and he started to wonder why he'd never thought to invest in one of these things back at Wayne Manor. This would have been especially useful on those nights he'd limp from the Batcave in his cape and cowl, every muscle in his body screaming at him for relief – the nights he'd tell Alfred that of course nothing hurt, that he could deal with it, that the bruises and swelling would eventually go down and he'd be back to his old self in no time. _How the mighty have fallen_, he considered with a wry grin as he leaned back against the built-in headrest and let his eyes droop shut again. Steam billowed up into a thick cloud around him, and part of him wondered if he might bother moving all day.

* * *

It seemed like only a few moments had passed when Selina barged in on him an hour later. She had rushed back into the house after a long and leisurely ride around the property, emptying the snowmobile of its 12-gallon fuel capacity and actually anxious to tell Bruce about her garage discovery and subsequent exploration of the frozen island. That was what she had needed. A chance to get out and be on her own, to try something different and dangerous, to have the biting cold seeping into her bones and her adrenaline kicking in to fight it off. She had thought that maybe she could talk him into joining her outdoors at some point, to at least get some fresh air into his lungs.

She had all but torn through the front door and raced to her room as she shucked the snowmobile suit along the way. She was surprised to not find Bruce still at one with the mattress, and for a brief panicked moment had considered that he may have woken and thought she'd left, and had taken off after her. Reality settled back in when she approached his doorway and heard the soft rumbling and _swish_ of water, and she was surprised when she entered the room and saw the bathroom door still ajar.

_An invitation, perhaps, _she considered wickedly, and then paused for a moment as she considered that the thoughts of going to him, of conversing with him – these simple acts of familiarity that used to fill her with unease – were now happening in a way that almost came as second nature. That despite her internal kicking and screaming and the apprehension that bled into every crevice of her soul, she was learning to coexist with Bruce Wayne in a throw-herself-on-the-sword sort of way. Coexist. The word had such an odd ring to it.

She took a breath, squared her shoulders and marched into the bathroom, thinking she'd surprise him in the shower or at the sink again, perhaps ambush him with another offer to help him shave. But then she'd seen him sitting in the froth of the tub, his head back against the tiles and his eyes closed as he rubbed his temples with an aggravated frown marring his handsome features, and her heart did a repeat of that whole bottoming-out-against-her-ribcage thing. He didn't feel well. Again.

"Bruce?"

He didn't acknowledge that he had heard her above the whirring of the water, so she tentatively stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. The shock of her cold skin on his heated body immediately forced his eyes open, and he laughed – not the good kind, but a breaking, self-deprecating, shattering sort of sound – when he registered his gaze on her.

"Sorry…" he mumbled as he reached to turn the jets down lower. "Slight headache…backache…thought this would help. But don't worry…I'm fine." His voice sounded breathy, still barely audible above the water.

She peered at him for a good long few moments, thinking it would be easier to just give him time, leave him there in peace, easier, easier, easier…and yet, she couldn't bring herself to do it. He was close to her, and breathing, and warm in the hot water, and even though her mind screamed _bad idea, bad idea, bad idea…_she didn't want it to end.

"You know, you're turning into me," she said as she continued to rub his shoulder. "I'm the one who says I'm fine when I'm not."

Something dark and heavy clouded his eyes as he looked up at her, and then she was moving, doing something, she…

Was revealing her naked, curvy body as she shed herself of her clothes. She shifted him, pushing him forward gently from behind, and then stepped over the side of the tub with one lovely, long leg, and then the other, settling in comfortably behind him and pulling him to settle back against her.

His breath caught in a slow, rumbling heave as he became automatically aware of her presence. Good Lord, what this woman could do to him with just her presence and her touch! He immediately forgot he didn't feel well. Forgot that until a few minutes ago, he had spent the time since he'd woken being unhappy. Forgot the storm of I-cants in his brain and languished in the soothing warmth of her, the spiral of her fingers on his water-slicked skin.

Selina rested her chin on his shoulder as she reached under his arms and rubbed his chest in slow, soothing circles that had him swaying, groaning with a slight release of tension. "That feels amazing," he said, husky and deep, shuddering, as she dropped a light kiss on his skin and drew the kneading of her fingers over the flat plane of his stomach.

"It's ok to get the stitches wet?" she mumbled in his ear as she passed over the sewn tissue. Not that it mattered at this point. His skin was practically prune-like.

"S'ok…day 14, I think," he answered, and it dawned on him then that she didn't make him feel like he was _less_ for continuing to be the weakest link of the two of them. If anything, her great attention to caring for him made him feel stronger, virile, like he could do anything if he put his mind to it.

"Good," she whispered as she rubbed up and down his biceps, and then trailed up to his collarbone, stopping to tease the muscles that connected his neck to his shoulders, working into them, pushing out the knots like a sculptor molding clay. "No more setbacks. You're losing weight. You need to start working these muscle groups again."

He turned his head to the side, and she caught the barest hint of a smirk before he fell back against her shoulder again. "If you're offering to help me with my physical therapy…"

She swatted his shoulder as his voice trailed off suggestively.

"Not sex," she murmured as her hands trailed lower, running along the bumps of his spine, deliberately avoiding the angry purple bumps and bruises and instead wandering to the subtle dip of his lower back.  
She pushed hard pressure with her thumbs as she hooked her other fingers into his side, and he flexed at her touch and pushed back into her hands.

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" he asked, his tone now betraying a lighter mood.

"I think I meant you," she laughed, and his whole body rumbled along with her.

"Liar," he retorted, and then he tipped his head back to properly kiss her, her arms snaking back around him to deepen it even at this awkward angle. He wondered when each kiss with her would stop feeling like the first one, but he also never wanted to find out. The thought both exhilarated and frightened him, that he couldn't get enough of Selina Kyle and had this insatiable appetite to be around her, near her, _in_ her, during every waking hour of the day. This was as close to real fear as he'd come in years, and at the center of that fear was a woman it could take him just as many years to uncover all the layers of.

The stiffness that rose in his neck forced him to reluctantly detach his lips from hers, and she pulled away and rested her forehead against the back of his neck as she reached over to power the water jets down. "You stay in here any longer, old man, and you're actually going to _look_ like an old man," she teased. She slid out from behind him and hoisted her legs up over the wall, moving gracefully to grab a towel and wring the moisture from her damp locks of hair. When she turned to get a towel for him, the world hovered in silence at the predatory look he gave her as he moved to stand. His gaze traced the lines of her body like he'd never seen it before, like he'd just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.

"What's the matter, Wayne? Cat got your tongue?" she teased as she wrapped the towel snugly around herself. She tossed the other towel at him and he caught it – barely – as he stepped onto the cool tile next to her. His Adam's apple rolled down his throat as he swallowed, blinked, forced himself to look away. He settled for staring at the floor, figuring it was the safest thing to do at the moment. Feet. Toes. Yes, that was a safe place. Feet were not sexy. Feet were…

MK. ….

MK?

Her toes were splayed, arched against the cold floor, and in a ring around the fourth toe of her right foot were the letters "MK". The toe crinkled and rolled with her body weight, the letters changing shape with it, and still he stood, transfixed.

"You have a tattoo," he remarked. Dumb. Stupid. As if _she_ didn't know that _she_ had a tattoo.

He looked up again to meet her eyes, and her posture had frozen. Rigid. She had that deer-in-the-headlights look as she looked down from her feet and back to him, and her soft breathing sliced the air like thunder in the quiet between them.

None of this would have happened if she had ignored him being in the stupid tub in the first place, she silently scolded herself. Then another voice nagged at her from the back of her mind. _Wrong, wrong, wrong. He would have seen it eventually. _

Perspective.

Just a day ago, they had been fighting about the Clean Slate, and she had made the decision to stay, and she couldn't hide everything from him forever.

She took a deep breath, cleared her throat and looked into his eyes. "My sister…they're my sister's initials. Maggie…her name was Maggie."

He nodded his understanding. "Was?"

She pulled the towel tighter around herself and looked past him as she spoke, focusing on the water rolling, spinning, _down down down the drain_. "Is? Maybe." She shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't seen her in eighteen years."

Bruce draped his own towel around his waist as he stood rooted to his spot, and uncertainty rolling through his mind if he wanted to push this any further. He knew that haunted look on her face. He wore it well himself.

"Selina, I-"

"No, let me finish," she said calmly, though she still wouldn't look at him. She was looking down at her foot again, flexing it, studying it. "She was younger than me by several years. Our good-for-nothing sperm donor of a father used to dish out beatings if both of us got up and moved around the apartment after the lights were out for the night. So we learned how to outsmart him…Maggie would stand on my feet and I'd sneak us both to the kitchen to scrape together any food that was left from dinner, usually because he'd send us to bed without any. It's one of the only memories I have of her, Bruce. After my father made sure my mother was in the ground, Maggie was put into the foster system and I ran away from it. But not before I begged the case worker to place Maggie as far away from Gotham as they could get her. I haven't seen or heard from her since."

She lifted her head and looked up into his eyes, expecting to see pity, but all she saw was him regarding her with clear understanding. He moved toward her and ran his hands up and down her arms, taking the towel from her when her shaky hands faltered, and patted her dry carefully while he ignored the burning need to ask her more questions. This was enough. For now. She had walked in on him vulnerable today. In return, she had exposed one of her own weaknesses. A metaphorical statement. Here was the cat's soft underbelly. Don't exploit it, or I'll hurt. He understood that. All of him understood that.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: **As I mentioned previously, this is really meant to be the back half of the events in Chapter 11, not so much a chapter standing on its own. Regardless, I had to overcome a bit of writer's block that has come with working much longer hours during the day and night. I hope this chapter meets expectations, and I couldn't be more grateful for your readership, your feedback, and for some of you, your great ideas! Feedback is the drug of choice for writers, so any time you want to dish it out, I will be more than happy to take it!

Also, if anyone is truly curious about the location/setting I've put Bruce and Selina in for this story, Princess Royal Island is a true majestic escape, and Google images don't do the real thing justice. I've fudged some details just for the sake of this story (you really can't stay there in winter and it's a preserved land, so no snowmobiles are allowed), but for the most part I tried to stay authentic as to what the island looks like when it's frozen over in the winter.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Selina scrunched her fingers underneath the top collar of Bruce's jacket. Firm muscle slipped under her fingertips at his neckline as she pulled the zipper all the way up, and he rocked with the pressure she applied. "I can do this, Selina. I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me." Her gloved fingers stayed on the zipper, keeping him from pulling away. "You haven't been fine in two weeks."

"Ok, I'm _not_ fine," he said. "I meant that I need to do this. I _need_ to." He pushed toward the door, and she tightened her grip. His arm stretched. He stopped.

"You'd been making progress this week. Then you had a setback today. When I said that I wanted you to eventually get some fresh air with me, it didn't have to be right now. You're going to keep pressuring yourself, and that will just make it harder to regain your strength."

He bristled. "Stopping always makes it harder to go again. The only way I'm going to get better is if I keep my body moving."

"You keep saying that, but what if it's not true?"

He swallowed, and she watched him as he racked his brain for the explanation that would make sense to her. She wanted to hear it. Needed to hear it. Because she would never understand it, since only _he_ had lived it. His expression collapsed. "How do you think I got out of that pit? Now…_please_," he said, and the words slayed her just as he knew they would.

She hated him for that.

"Fine, your choice," she relented as she dropped her hands and backed away. "I'm not your keeper. You have your own choices, and you need to make them."

His gaze darkened. "You push and you pull, Selina. Which one is it? You didn't have a problem with me _over-exerting_ myself last night."

"I said it's your choice!" she snapped as she started pacing. Then she forced her voice down into an even tone, despite the burning urge to scream at him in frustration. "I'm doing the best I can."

"I know you are, but I want you to..." He struggled for a word and ended up blowing out a breath in a huff. He gave up, and he looked away.

And then the reason for her tirade clicked in his mind. She wanted him to get better, but she didn't want him going crazy with the desire to prove himself to her. Which was both reassuring and daunting all at once. Reassuring that his well-being mattered to her. Daunting that her opinion mattered that much to him.

He looked back up at her, and she was yanking the door open, holding it for him. "You coming, or not?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, the arctic air blasting him in the face as he gripped the railing and followed her down the rustic and snow-covered front staircase, plowing forward despite the strong protest in his back and knees.

He watched her saddle up alongside the snowmobile she had told him about, and he had to admit to himself that she looked right at home as she hooked a leg over the side of it. Just like that last day back in Gotham when she had easily revved up the Bat Pod and looked like she belonged. Somehow, she fit into his world. She just did.

"You can jump on," she offered. "I have to go slow, anyway. I've just about run her out of gas."

Bruce eyed up the speed sled and reconsidered his throbbing head and aching joints. "You go. I think I'll walk. You should wear a helmet, though. One of us dealing with a concussion is enough, don't you think?"

Her lip twitched as she smirked at him. "Bossy."

He folded his arms over his chest. "Stubborn."

He picked up the helmet from where she had left it on the bottom step and tossed it at her. She snatched it out of the air, started the ignition and pulled the helmet down over her smooth hair, tucking the back into a neat ponytail and bunching it into the hood of her suit.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she yelled over the engine. "Don't slip and fall out here, Wayne. There aren't any top-secret hospitals around."

He watched with an amused expression as she zipped away, weaving among the trees with a fluid grace that made it look like she had been doing this forever. _Go slow, my ass,_ he thought as she disappeared from sight. It was only then that he paused to take in his surroundings, his eyes burning against the frigid air and his nostrils invaded with the scent of clean, frozen earth. Despite Bruce Wayne's illustrious history of world travel, he had never made it to this corner of the world before. He could see why Lucius had purchased property here, however. It was private, secure, serene.

The ground crunched beneath his boots as he started his trek on the path toward the clearing ahead, where deep old-grown valleys full of record-size, white-dusted spruce and cedar were cleaved by a labyrinth of massive granite ridgelines. His jacket was no match for the chill in the air, and his chest tightened with each breath, but he crunched his gloved hands in his pockets and relaxed into an even-paced stride that didn't have him straining or panting, or wanting to chip the tension in his body to bits.

Then he cleared the bend, and the physical exertion became the last thing on his mind as he stared ahead. His view now became a canvas – emerald water turned solid blue, mountains clasping a frozen channel – in a masterly demonstration of nature's engine of invention, untouched by man and beyond his understanding. Bruce had seen only one sight like it in his lifetime, and those memories filled him with an unchecked anger and seething that continued to haunt him even now, years after the fact.

Bruce stumbled forward, toward the ice, as his mind played on rewind, weaving a massive and fraudulent legend about the League of Shadows as a society devoted to checking human corruption over years' worth of time.

_Your parents' death was not your fault…it was your father's. And it does not change the fact that your father failed to act._

He continued walking, ignoring the churning in his gut as it pressed down on him like an avalanche. His distress called him forward even as doubt picked at the back of his mind.

Stop walking, stop walking, stop walking….

_Your father did not understand the forces of decay. Cities like Gotham are in their own death throes. Chaotic. Grotesque. Beyond saving. It is not right that one must come so far to see the world as it is meant to be. Purity. Serenity. Solitude. These are the qualities we hold dear. But the important thing is whether you believe it._

"Shut up," Bruce sneered, waving his arm at his invisible attacker.

_Can Gotham be saved, or is she an ailing ancestor whose time has run?_

"I said SHUT UP! You're dead! You're _NOTHING_!" Bruce grasped his imaginary sword and swung, sweeping at his invisible enemy's feet, catching his own foot in the process.

There was a desperate gamble for balance, and then he landed in a heap at the edge of the bank where frostbitten land met refreezing meltwater. Crystals of snow puffed in a cloud around him, then dusted over his jacket and the front of his pants as he curled to lay flat on his back, the grey clouds spinning above him.

How the hell had that happened?

He blinked, trying to catch his breath while pain rolled through his body with every heartbeat. Every inhalation. But he wasn't off kilter as though a fault line had slipped. He didn't think anything inside had shifted or snapped, or that he'd torn open his stitches. No, he just felt battered…and stupid. Stupid for seeing things that weren't there, just like in his sleep. Seeing men he had defeated, men he had seen locked away, men killed before his very eyes.

He pressed his palms down into the cold, solid ground and gingerly pushed up, willing his body weight into a sitting position. A stiff breeze moaned and whistled, tinting his cheeks red and raw while he watched winter birds in the distance. White feathered bodies blurred into an impressionistic painting, eventually blending in with the sky, fading away. Not at all like bats. Bats spun around and around and hovered like a cloud of giant black dots. Bats terrified his enemies. There were no bats to be found here.

The roar of the snowmobile's motor being enveloped in the wind engulfed his senses a few minutes later. He heard Selina cut the power to the sleek machine and walk up behind him, but he didn't turn around. He could picture her…hands on her hips, lips curled into a scowl, eyes glazed over with an I-told-you-so pointed stare at the back of his head. He focused instead on her shadow that fell across the reflective surface of the ice, the one that towered over him, hovering, penetrating his external surface the way only she could. Their two shadows combined looked like a tiny island on a vast, open sea of millions of tiny mirrors.

"Did you fall?"

A long pause. His muscles tensed and his crystallized breath hovered on the air in front of him. "No. I sacrificed my sure footing for a kill stroke."

Dread collected like a solid ball in Selina's gut, but she squatted down next to him and reached out to cup his jaw line in her hand, tipping his face toward hers. His shadow danced in her eyes now. He watched those. He watched her. And the luminous landscape continued to cry at him with a long, lonely howl.

"How's your pain?"

He found a shaky smile for her, despite everything. When he wavered on the knife edge of a cliff, looking at Selina Kyle took his breath away, but also gave him a grapple hook to cling to.

"Tell me…what do you see when you look out there?" he asked, motioning toward the never-ending expanse of ice land.

Her eyes glittered in the waning light of the late afternoon as she turned her gaze from him and looked out over what she wanted to describe as a calm stillness...one where cobalt blue and misty grey blended together to form nature's color that was almost never seen up close by the human eye.

"It's…nature's mask," she finally answered, trying to will herself into seeing whatever it was that he saw. "It will melt soon enough."

He nodded slowly. "The apparent thickness of the ice tricks the mind. It's just a whole lot of compression. Everything trapped under the surface, trying to get out."

She ignored his double entendre and rose up on the balls of her feet, holding out her hand to him as she did so. "Let's go back up. You'll ride. I'll drive slow. Don't argue with me."

* * *

Selina moved about the kitchen with efficiency, trying to push down on an upswing of thoughts that she didn't want. She had practically deposited Bruce on the sofa when they had walked back in, and she'd had to choke back on the ironic and bitter laugh that had wanted to peal from her lips. It seemed that every time they took two steps forward, some nebulous force that couldn't be seen or defined would seemingly come out of nowhere and douse them both in a strong sense of reality. His physical symptoms were one thing, but now they were both dealing with needing to recondition their minds to develop new perspectives and control the stresses related to ghosts of their pasts.

When she had seen that look in his eyes outside, she had wanted to shake him, wanted to smack him, wanted to do _something_ – but she herself knew it was perilously easy to be perfectly fine one moment and then find yourself a mess of jumbled, tattered nerves the next. It came with the territory of having developed years worth of habits around a dual identity.

She had fixed two bowls of soup and carried them carefully down the stairs, through the square foyer and into the living room. Bruce's tall frame, which seemed to get lankier by the day, was stretched out across the massive piece of furniture she'd left him on, one arm resting easily behind his head and his bare feet perched on the edge of the coffee table. The computer rested in his lap, his eyes trained on the screen as he used his free hand to jab away furiously at the keys.

"I know for a fact that you haven't eaten today, so you're going to do that now," she said bluntly as she used her right leg to push his feet down on the floor. She dropped the bowls on the table and then reached over and snapped the lid of the laptop shut on his still-active fingers.

"Hey," he said, the word stretched out by bewildered indignation. He frowned and looked at her like she'd perhaps grown another head, or maybe a feline tail and some ears.

She raised her eyebrows up at him as she dropped and curled on the couch at his side, unabashedly digging into her feast as she did so. "What? You said earlier that you need to keep going if you want to feel better," she reminded him between mouthfuls of soup. "When you're done eating, you can clean up the dishes and put away your own clothes, too. I'm younger and more spry than Alfred, but I'm not your maid, Wayne."

He scoffed, though his lip twitched with a hint of a smile as he stared at her. "I seem to remember the first time I saw you, Ms. Kyle, you_ were_ a maid…or pretending to be." "And by the way," he asked with a rare bit of self-deprecation, "are you calling me old?"

He had a decade on her. The age difference was something that had never come up before, and though she knew he was only teasing her now, it had never felt like an issue.

She flashed him a coy smile and shrugged. "Well, you're not using that cane anymore. And you _have _proven to be very…shall we say, _flexible_."

She knew she'd won when Bruce's eyes grew instantly darker and that look passed over his face that she'd become so accustomed to – that I'm picturing-you-naked countenance that always managed to make her wonder what he might do to her after staring at her like that.

He made a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh as he reached to put the laptop on the table and plucked the steaming bowl from it. His stomach roiled instantly at the smell, and not in a good way. He had no idea why his appetite had yet to return, especially since the nausea that had plagued him the week prior had mostly subsided. Still, he would humor her and attempt to eat, especially considering this was her second attempt today at feeding him.

Relief fluttered in Selina's body as she watched him gingerly swallowing a few spoonfuls of soup. Even if she was over-interpreting, at least he felt well enough to indulge her with these fleeting moments of normality. It was hardly a sumptuous meal to ply him with, but it was good in a pinch. More her style than his. She couldn't imagine that the media-dubbed "Prince of Gotham" ever had Alfred presenting him with soup from a can too often, but he hadn't asked for or elaborated much about food since he had woken from his week-long slumber. Perhaps it came from going without food for so long as a child and as a young adult, but Selina couldn't help but to think how weird that must be….to just not be hungry, ever, even if you were wasting away. It's not that she made a habit of overeating, but she certainly ate enough to keep herself going.

Bruce emptied half the bowl and then pushed it back to the table as he made a face. "This is…this is just pretty disgusting." At least he'd tried.

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. She eyed up the laptop as he reached for it again, the research he had been in the middle of clearly still lingering in his mind. She was surprised that he hadn't said a word to her about the Clean Slate program screen she had left open – the program that had purged most of her bad decisions from existence.

"So what's got your attention all wrapped up? You've been quiet since we came back in."

Bruce looked over at her, slight guilt creeping into his features. "Just…" He sighed. He didn't see the point in keeping anything from her at this point. Not when she was clearly trying so hard to help him along. "I'm researching doctors who deal with radical and cutting-edge treatments of post-concussion syndrome."

He flipped the screen toward her and she studied it quizzically, then looked up into his face to search his eyes. "Prolotherapy?"

"Look," he said as he highlighted a particular paragraph on the page. "Research into how the body fights pain, naturally. It's not just about the brain. It's a holistic procedure that involves a series of injections into damaged ligaments, tendons, and joints that produces a healing response within the damaged tissue, ultimately leading to repair of the damage. I think this is what I probably needed years ago."

She leaned back against the couch, took a deep, deep breath, and nodded, like she was preparing for some sort of... fight. Somehow, they usually ended up there. "Okay. You're going to have to help me out here before I can offer you my opinion. If this is what you need, why are you questioning looking into it?"

He took a breath. Air. Yes. He needed to breathe. "How do you feel about Italy?" he asked on an exhale.

"Italy?"

Her mouth fell open just a little bit, and that word wrapped around her like a noose. Fear plowed into her, unexpected, painful.

"The research is happening at the Gruppo Villa Maria, a hospital with researchers studying at the University of Florence. I thought that we could go when I'm stronger. Maybe a few days. Maybe a week from now, or two weeks."

"We?" She regarded him with an emotionally wrought expression, her eyes flaring so he could see the whites of them all around the dark brown of her irises. She swallowed, visibly. Her muscles started to tense.

"Lucius could get us set up with a flight…identification…access to the offshore accounts. And….we don't have to stay just in Italy….we could go anywhere you'd want." He knew his voice was floundering, but he didn't care.

"You're asking me to go across the world with you," she snapped. "We don't even have _names_. We erased them, remember? You don't know where we would live, what we would do. So don't expect me not to freak out just a little."

"But we don't need all the details right now, Selina. All I'm asking for is-"

"Just…shut up," she whispered, sounding utterly exasperated.

Silence stretched between them like the hammer pulling back in a gun. It was a moment of anticipation, a dreadful, cloying moment that had his heart thundering in his chest, because he could see that she was deciding. He could see it from the way the thoughts crossed her face, each one clear and readable, just by the way her lips curled or her eyebrows twitched. She wore everything on her face, vulnerable, and she was deciding. She was…

"I just don't…" She paused to shake her head and sigh. "I don't understand why you'd be willing to include me on this adventure, when you know that I could hurt you."

He reached over and took her hand, his eyes creasing as he tilted his head to look at her. When he finally spoke again, his voice was gruff and cracking. He didn't sound like himself. He didn't sound like the masked man, either, but the voice that choked out to her was desire-filled, confessional, raw and real.

"That day that I stopped by your apartment, Selina…do you remember that day back in Gotham?"

"Yes…" she stuttered, her voice falling off a cliff into silence.

" I wanted…but I couldn't…"

"What did you want?"

He tossed the computer to the floor and reached around her waist to pull her up against his body. She started at the sudden movement, but relaxed into his touch as he ran his hand up over her hip, back and forth, her arousal igniting at the dark, dark look he gave her.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, abrupt, his lips mere centimeters from hers. Where the hot breath of her response would land. Steady, resolved.

"Yes."

He brought his mouth down to hers and rolled her underneath him, writhing, until she felt like a rock under the crush of his sudden wave. "Bruce," she moaned as he rubbed his groin up against her, rubbed and teased and tormented. Even through her pants, she could feel him pressing up against her, throbbing, growing. She reached down and pushed her hand against him as she bit his lip, and he groaned and shoved into her touch.

Pulling back to lift her shirt over her head, his palms started a slow, sensual trip from her shoulders, down over her breasts, all the way to her waistline. He leaned against her, his arousal pressing into her as he slipped his hands under the waistband of her pants. He let the elastic catch on the bends of his wrists, and he drew his hands down the inner length of her legs, sliding the material along with them, down over her skin, soft, smooth, and slow.

He drew back up to start the journey again, and she arched against him as he started licking a trail of fire from her navel to the thin lace straps that ran over her hips, and he slipped them away, down past her knees. His tongue roved lower, to the juncture of her thighs, and his cheeks rubbed the damp, slick inner skin of her quads. His palms slipped between her legs to flatten against her like a settling wave, and then not one, but two fingers were grinding into her.

She gasped as he pushed his fingers in and out, working her lower body into a tense and sopping mess. He drew a stuttering, hitching moan of desire from her like he was unweaving a loose thread, and she bucked into him and gripped his wrists, digging her nails into the skin, trying to keep him in place but also trying to fight the blinding fire burning behind her eyes.

Just before she was about to come undone, he removed his hand and rolled away from her, panting, gasping, and she lay there glassy-eyed, stuck. Fuzz gripped the corners of her vision as she watched him remove his clothing as quickly as his traitorous body would let him. "Bruce…don't stop," she murmured, reaching out for him, grasping his length before he backed up.

He took an agonizing moment to gather his senses, and then he fell back to her and pushed all the way into her, desperate and out of control. He slipped in and out at a frantic pace as he brought his mouth down on hers, and she sighed into him and bit his lip again, causing him to jerk at the sharp sensation. He pulled back, but then a smirk slipped across her face, and he came down on her like a storm of sensation that neither wanted to end, pushing her legs apart roughly at the knees as he fucked her at a steady pace.

"This is what I wanted," he whispered into her mouth, a throaty, harsh bit of words, jumbled up between grunting thrusts that set her teeth on edge. Her head hit the arm of the couch with the violent, shuddering force of him, and she felt him in the deepest part of her, twisting, coaxing, stimulating her into a wired pile of torturous needing.

"You should have…" she panted. "I would have…I would have…"

She clawed at his hips, grabbed at his ass, trying to guide him, to force him to keep up the mindless, delirious pace, but as she curled under him, shaking, he slowed. He withdrew to the tip, hung there over her, heaving, every aching muscle in his body a block of solid, straining tension, only to run up into her again with a groan. He rested inside her, breathing, his face twisted with a dark look of unadulterated... wildness. And then he did it again. And again. And again.

She yelled, dragging her nails down against his skin every time he pushed into her, shouted until she was hoarse, barely able to give him any more encouragement than a throaty, lusty, whispery growl. He continued in the slowest torture she'd ever experienced, until the world above her was only him as she waited for him to fill her again, only to shake with emptiness when he left her. Everything was a blur. His skin was slippery with sweat, and his hair was wild from where she grabbed and twisted it roughly between her fingers.

When the roll of his hips pumped into her again, she grabbed his head, splayed her palms against his cheeks, and clenched. She contracted her lower body around his length, and shook, grasped, pulled using her inner muscles to suction him into place. Sweat dotted his brow. His eyes flared at her in an out-of-control way, and his mouth formed a grimace of... pain, pleasure... she couldn't tell which.

"Bruce," she panted when she had his eyes caught in her gaze. The intensity scared her beyond reason. "I wanted it, too," she panted, nonsensically knowing it was what he wanted to hear, though she had no idea why, no idea why it was suddenly important to him.

He pushed her back into the fabric with a thrust that made her shout so loud her vision blurred and her chest throbbed with the lack of air in her lungs. He gripped the arm rest behind her, and she watched his biceps flex and tremble as he put his weight into it, put his weight into her, in and out and in a dizzying, violent race that she would have stopped if he had been gentle.

"Harder," she panted.

For the last time, he rammed into her with a tremendous heave. He looked down at her and then his entire body jerked, his eyes darkening into something unseeing and panicked and overwhelmed. He rolled his head back and looked at the ceiling, and she felt him flinch against her in a series of short, tiny motions as he continued to twitch. His pelvic bone jammed and rubbed against her just right, sent her into her own pealing waves of throaty screaming. She squeezed his hips and then they both collapsed, gasping for air.

He rolled on his side and let her curl around him like a blanket, despite the fact that once again, every muscle and every nerve in his body burned as he came down from their high. She rubbed his side, soothing the newly-formed bruises he had gotten that day. At some point, she slowly began losing her grip on conscious thought, but not before she heard him make a promise.

"You won't be sorry about Italy. Italy will be just fine."

And the fears didn't visit either one of them that night.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: **Ah, so here we are with unlucky chapter 13! :) Well, it feels unlucky to me because I really went back and forth on how I wanted this chapter to play out. Everyone's feedback and comments have been wonderful, and still I know that this story is being told at a bit of a slower pace. I adore that all of you continue to let me know if you think this thing is stuck in the mud, or if you're willing to wait for the payoff at the eventual end.

Two quick things to note about this chapter: One, there are three lines of dialogue that appear that were in the original TDKR movie script, and for whatever reason, were cut from the final film. I thought I had an appropriate place for them in this story, but since I own absolutely nothing that Nolan & Nolan wrote, please don't sue me, Nolans! And two, yes, I continue to re-write history as far as Bruce's "death" in the movie is concerned. This is still intentional on my part, because this story was never meant to pick up from exactly what the movie gave us in the end. Again, the Nolans own that ending. This story has always been, and will continue to be, my own selfish little Bruce/Selina ship where I can write more story for them to the best of my ability.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

She woke up with his arms around her midsection. Selina stretched against the blankets and pillows they had pulled from the back of the sofa, and the moments that followed were uncharacteristically peaceful for her…when she was still opening her eyes, still establishing that she was, in fact, awake, and that the world was still clouded in the tranquility of an uninterrupted night of rest for both of them. No inner voice had spent the past several hours whispering poisonous words of self-deprecation. Bruce's soft breathing fell against the nape of her neck like a caress, and he was, at the moment, her calm. Her warmth. In that moment, she never wanted it to end.

Naturally, the perfection didn't last. It never does. She shifted as the pins and needles began to invade her skin, letting her know that the couch was _not_ the best place for them to have slumbered, that her body could, indeed, feel _too_ sore from extremely rough sex, and that a sofa was far too small for two adults, no matter how petite she was. And if _her _body - in its nearly perfect physical condition – felt like it had gotten hit by a truck just from sleeping on a couch, then she could only imagine how Bruce's back felt at the moment.

"Mmmm." As if on cue, he squeezed her tighter for a moment as he shifted and then relaxed again, making her feel oddly bereft and chilled in those parts of her skin that _weren't_ touching him.

"I think my circulation is failing," she mumbled into his forehead, and a soft groan curled through him as he cracked open an eyelid in response.

"No…it's not," he whispered, his voice raspy from sleep. But then he sucked in a full breath, and his entire torso hitched with the effort, the discomfort evident on his features. He scrabbled his hands across his face as he quickly rose to a sitting position, pushing her away from him in the process and then looking at her with blinking, bloodshot eyes.

"Everything….everything's ok?" He sounded as though he existed on the bare edges of sentience. Rawness held his tone in a vice, bringing it an octave lower.

"Everything's fine," she answered as she gave him a worried glance. A light coat of stubble had grown across his cheeks again, highlighting the dark, fleshy circles under his eyes. She reached out to push back the stray hair that had fallen hear his temple, but he reached up a hand to still her as his expression finally cracked a little, giving way to a faint smile.

"I don't think I've slept on a couch since I was a kid and I was allowed to crash in the movie room," he grumbled as he brought their hands down to work out the crick in his neck. Selina let him guide her, and she pulled herself behind him and reached out and now used both palms to massage at the juncture of skin just above his clavicle. "Of course," he continued as he dropped his head from one side to the other, "couches seemed much bigger back then."

Selina exhaled, relieved that he had perhaps at least managed to find some humor in the situation. "Well, unless you've left out some really interesting life details, I'm going to guess your parents didn't make it a habit of letting the Prince of Gotham sleep outside of his _regency room_. Manor formalities to adhere to, and all."

That's when she could feel him automatically tense just before he stood up and moved away from her. He pulled on his sweatpants and quickly shambled his way toward the stairs to the kitchen, a shadow crossing his features as he did so.

"Where are you going?" she asked, slightly annoyed, as she moved to wrap the blanket around her naked body.

"Coffee. Do you want anything?" He didn't turn around.

She offered no response to his retreating form, and he paused and shrugged as he continued on his mission. Selina pulled her clothes back on and straightened the blankets as she waited for him, knowing he'd take some detours around the cabin, giving himself time to clear his head. Still, she was surprised when he slowly and carefully padded down the landing again about ten minutes later, a steaming cup of coffee in each hand.

He didn't look at her, but sat down beside her again as he handed her a mug, and then began inhaling his own beverage. She watched the dark shadow of his Adam's apple bob up and down in his throat as he took in long, sloshing gulps of caffeine.

"I hope that wasn't hot," she snapped with a raised eyebrow, and he frowned as he shook his head and then placed his mug on the coffee table, staring at it for several long moments before he dropped his gaze to his lap. He sat hunched over, tired, as though his spine was curling inward. His eyes blinked, glacial and slow, as if he were contemplating going back to sleep right then and there.

Then he turned his head to look at her, and she could see that whatever thoughts had jumbled up his mind had met his eyes. Remorse and pain clawed at the edge of his features, and she could have sworn she saw his lower lip tremble, just a bit, barely even at all. Maybe it really hadn't.

"Selina…"he began, letting her name float in the air in front of his lips. Like he was hovering, teetering on the one thing in the world he knew was real. He took two deep breaths and reached for her right hand - the one that wasn't holding her coffee cup – and caressed each knuckle as he stared at her palm with some kind of internal scrutiny.

"You don't have to tell me," she said after a few tense moments. She felt suddenly like she was trying to hold together a broken eggshell, and thought that perhaps, the fleeting moments where they were physical, happy, and wrapped up in their desire for each other would never be enough. Sex didn't solve anything. It was a temporary bandage, but perhaps the demons that haunted them both were stronger forces than any temporary hazes of lust that seemed to shroud their every move when they were together. Fighting seemed to be the only alternative to sex, and anymore it felt like those instances happened back-to-back, one bad decision always outdoing the other.

"I try…I try not to think about it anymore, I really do," he finally said on a long sigh. "For a long time, I went without thinking about it. At all. I let everything that was happening in Gotham distract me. Everything else was painful. More painful. I used one pain as a distraction for the other, but…"

His voice trailed off as he tried every tangent that his addled brain could shove in his direction. _Stop talking,_ his brain said. _Selina doesn't do the talking thing. The sharing thing. Stop talking, stop talking…_

But it all came back to him. His parents lying there, their silent and bloodied forms turning blue and then pale white beneath his wracking, shaking body that heaved with sobs. And then to an hour later, when he was being wrapped in his father's coat in the police station by someone who would later become one of the most instrumental people in his life. How is it that a memory that was now more than thirty years old could still make his chest feel like he was crumpling under the weight of the world? He had done his best for Gotham, giving nearly all that he could, to combat that distant memory and turn it around into something positive.

"Alfred didn't make me sleep in my own room for a long time after my parents died," he finally relented, his tone cut apart with knives of weariness. "I suppose that you know that my parents died, and how. I know that you did your homework, Selina. But I never told you that their murder was the main cause of me making a confession to Alfred. I blamed myself for their deaths. I had to travel a long path with that recognition of guilt. I went from wanting to…to kill the man responsible…to someone who decided to create the monster of Batman to fight the war on crime. That war on crime…it's done now, but I don't know when it's going to stop keeping me up at night. Maybe never."

Selina's mouth opened. Sound scrambled awkwardly on the tip of her tongue, coming out at first as a hesitant noise that was meant to be a word, but one that her brain was having a hard time finishing. A lump had formed, thick and obtrusive, in the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it as the silence in the space around them grew to an oppressive weight, crushing her. But then his gaze caught hers, and that brought her pause. A moment of hesitation. A hint of clarity. One precious second to remind her again that someone else knew the inner coil of her dread.

"During the uprising, we were walking through a house…someone's house… when I noticed a broken picture frame," she finally said, though she stared straight ahead and her voice didn't inflect any particular emotion. "I picked it up to look at it, and it was a family. It reminded me of the photos I saw at your place. It made me realize that breaking apart other families….just because mine had always been broken…that was never part of the plan. Never part of what I wanted."

A long silence stretched as they sat there, together, on the edge of a cliff, hands intertwined. Finally, they were peeling open, inch by slow inch, even if neither wanted to recognize it. Even if it made her want to scream and cry and resist. Even if it made his body want to shut down again with the effort of it.

"We all make mistakes, Selina," he responded as he forced his anxieties away. God knows that enough people had paid for some of his. He pushed thoughts of Rachel down, too, to the place where her haunting memory had started to lose some its power to terrorize him, where Selina's healing him had started to turn it into an element of a controlled environment where he didn't have to pick apart and analyze every single _what if_.

She swallowed thickly and nodded. "We're the sum of our mistakes."

"Or our achievements."

"The mistakes stick better, trust me."

Bruce raised her fist to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand as he shook his head. "You don't give yourself enough credit. It's what you did in the end to help save Gotham that counts. Besides, maybe I like that one of your mistakes has stuck."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows. She saw the tense posture start to roll off of his shoulders, and behind the misery, he smiled. It was just a ghost of one, but it was a smile, nonetheless, and hate it as she did, it slightly thawed her insides where they had gone cold.

She stared after him as he dropped her hand and moved to get up, turning to give her a confounding look of slight amusement before silencing her with an explanation. "Stay right here. I'll be right back."

She inhaled the scent of her remaining caffeine as she waited curiously, rarely one to do what she was told or what was asked of her, but she let the lukewarm liquid curl down her throat, relaxing her, stopping the onset of worries. Selina knew…knew that she tended to mar herself with pain when the situation presented itself to her. She welcomed it, even. But these last few weeks with Bruce were like a ping-pong match inside of her that needed to stop before it drove her mad.

She lifted her head as he walked back into the room, his robe now tied loosely over his bare torso, a vague expression tugged into a mask on his face. This mask was unlike the others she had grown accustomed to, however. For all of the somberness and seriousness that had wrapped around them, on and off for the past two weeks, she could see a hint of light straining to get through. And well, he was staring at her, looking for all the world like he was about to give her his heart in a box and was expecting her to toss it back at him with a knife in it.

Silence. She shifted in her seat. "What do you have, there?" she asked, low and wondering, as she eyed up the way his hand lingered inside of his robe pocket.

"Turn around."

She scoffed at him and made a face. "_Really_? I hate surprises."

"It's not a surprise."

"Fine," she huffed as she turned, giving him a slanted look for dramatic effect as she did so. She crossed her arms over her chest and made a show of impatiently tapping her bare foot against the coffee table. Then she felt him move closer, heard the distinct rattle of something being pulled from his pocket, and then for absolute _sure_ felt the weight of something very familiar settling around her neck as he lifted her hair and secured the clasp in the back.

She blinked, her posture now stuck in a rigid lock of tension. _He wouldn't…._

"Your mother's pearls? How can you just?..." She paused again as she turned to face him, the thoughts unable to jump into the air. She raised her hands and let them fall over the smoothness of the necklace, fingering them delicately as she looked in his eyes, searching, wondering when she had fallen asleep and began dreaming such nonsense.

He set his mouth in a line and let the smoothness of his hands linger on her shoulders. The pearls highlighted the regal, pale column of her neck, and unlike when he'd had to take them back from her at the masquerade, this time he was going to let himself properly appreciate them on their current resting place.

"Selina, you put yourself into…_this_," he said, gesturing around them. You put yourself all in to these past few weeks, even when it became obvious that I've had some difficulties-"

"And I haven't? This whole trust thing is just….you trust me, and I fail to understand that with all of the endless shit I've thrown at you. This whole time I've been basically telling you that I don't give you the same benefit, and you still-"

She was silenced when he leaned into her, drawing his mouth down onto hers in a long kiss as he pushed her mouth open and drank in the taste of her. She reached to clench at the collar of his robe, and her nails lightly dug into his skin. He didn't care. She sucked on his lip and he pulled back a bit, and then finally all the way, gasping for air and at the raw emotion this woman managed to pull from him day after day.

"You're too polite about the way you tell a woman to shut up," she drawled as she tried to regain her own conscience. He was likely the only man in the world who could draw even the slightest blush out of her. "I can't keep the pearls, though."

"So don't keep them. Borrow them," he shot back. "I think my mother would have found you as…colorful…as I did, with the way you acquired them the first time."

"Colorful?" she quipped.

"Amusing."

She rested an elbow on her knee and tapped slender fingers to the side of her jaw. "Imagine that…billionaire Bruce Wayne gets off on being stolen from. If only I'd known sooner."

"It takes a special kind of thief. Only one could have gotten me back into my cave." His eyes lightened with mischief. "Alfred wanted to set us up, you know…have us compare notes over coffee. If only he could see us now…."

She rolled her eyes as she stood up. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't just say _cave_. And I'm going to shower….alone."

Bruce watched the mesmerizing sway of her hips as she backed away, taunting, teasing.

He took that as his cue to follow.

* * *

The next four days passed in a blur. A long, slow, lazy blur, but still a blur nonetheless. They had slept in. A lot. They had christened several of the rooms in the cabin with languid, drawn-out marathon sex that would leave them spending the rest of the days and nights vegetating. They had even tried a joint cooking effort that had resulted in an edible, if somewhat tasteless meal. There wasn't a lot of talking, but the act of just _being_ was something that they both needed as much as breathing, as much as food, as much as any of the necessities. After all of the anger and tension and emotional craziness, two people who had often felt anything but 'normal' settled into normalcy with an ease that was far out of their comfort zones, but seemed to come easily.

Bruce still had his occasional bouts with headaches and spells where he didn't seem quite…right. Moments where he'd get an odd, frenzied look in his eye as pain would hit him from somewhere deep within the recesses of his battered body. Selina had her moments, as well, where nightmares would creep up or when her mood would shift in the space of time it took to fire a gunshot. For both of them, the triggers were never the same, never predictable. They were both learning that in those moments – when memories and fear slipped under their skin, cold and unrelenting – that giving each other time and space was the best course of action.

And so it was why, five days after the pearls made a reappearance, that she was stunned to creep to the landing with gun in hand after a noise had drawn her out of an early morning sleep – and find Lucius Fox leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb, his hands casually in his pockets, a traveling bag at his feet.

He smirked and gave her a nod as his eyes registered on the weapon. "Old habits die hard, don't they, Ms. Kyle?"

Selina let her trigger hand drop to her side as the other hand moved to rest on her hip. Standing there clad in nothing but Bruce's t-shirt, she suddenly became aware of her state of undress, and a scowl plastered itself across her face. "You ever hear of knocking?" she snarled.

"Well, seeing as how this _is_ my house, I thought my keys would suffice."

"Maybe a _phone call_ would have sufficed," she replied tersely.

"I was well aware of the time difference. Mr. Wayne knew my arrival was impending. I didn't believe that touching base upon the commencement of my travel was necessary."

"Oh, did he?" she hissed, not trying to disguise the annoyance in her voice. "I guess he accidentally skipped over that little detail with me."

Fox unzipped his jacket and switched tactics, the subtle planes of his face shifting from a friendly sarcasm to a serious worry. "How is Bruce? Really?"

Selina ignored his hint of attempting to put her on level ground. "He's better, but I guess you'd know that, seeing as how the two of you have been making plans."

He sighed as his feet shrieked across the wood floor for a few yards, stopping just a few feet from the landing. "Ms. Kyle, I'm trying, here. Don't forget that while you can glower at me and you can rage at Bruce for not keeping you in the loop, I saw you on that day you flew here. You had bottled up a lot. You let it whittle away at you. But Bruce was still your main focus. I'm going to assume that, in the time you've been here, you've both been dealing with what you've been bottling up, but that Bruce has allowed _your_ well-being, as well as his own, to become _his _main focus. Perhaps he didn't want to unnecessarily worry you with details that we hadn't yet ironed out."

"Don't make excuses for me, Lucius."

Selina turned and they both looked up at the sound of Bruce's steady voice as he crossed the threshold of the top of the landing and made his way down the stairs. He stopped alongside of Selina and touched a hand to her back, but she moved away and shook him off before blowing out a breath between her teeth and stalking back up to the bedroom.

For a moment, Bruce looked surprised. His eyes widened, just enough to make it noticeable. One of his eyebrows quirked. He inhaled two short breaths. But one thing that Lucius noticed, above all else, was that no mask slipped over his face in that moment – there was nothing hiding whatever emotion Selina's behavior had just roused in him. It was refreshing to see that subtle change in Bruce – that the masks weren't always interchangeable, and were no longer cloaking his inner torment.

"Go on after her, Bruce. I have some things I need to get from the plane and bring in."

Bruce nodded and turned on his heel just as he heard the bedroom door slam. The sound made him wince slightly, but he proceeded back down the hall he had just come from, and was relieved when he got to the room and turned the knob, finding it wasn't locked.

Selina was emptying the bullet chamber of her gun as she tossed the contents back in the drawer on her side of the bed. _Plink, plink, plink_ they dropped, echoing across the silent room. He softly shut the door behind himself and watched her in silence for several long moments, giving her time to cool off. After not being exposed to this side of her for several days, he was reminded again that Selina could be just like a tornado. Emotions swirling under the surface one moment, and then the next, absolutely destroying everything in her path.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that Lucius was coming."

She continued to ignore him, and instead walked into the bathroom and began opening various drawers in the vanity, pulling out items she would need for a bath. The slides and the knobs on the furniture rattled as she pushed and pulled harshly, and he walked up behind her and observed her fiery reflection in the mirror. It was one of the things he both respected and was weary of about her. Selina hid many of her emotions well, but anger was something she was never afraid to display. Like it or not, he always knew where he stood with her when they were in disagreement.

"Come on…give me something to work with, here," he finally said, and she lifted her head for his dark eyes to meet hers. She felt no remorse when he started to rub his temples with his index and middle fingers in long, slow circles.

But she watched him standing there, suffering, and she couldn't help the tumble of words that shoved and stumbled out of her mouth. "Damn it, Bruce," she snapped. "You want to talk now? Even after Fox came all this way? You couldn't be bothered before. I guess nearly three weeks wasn't enough time for you to figure out that I don't like or _accept_ anyone making decisions on my part? And I certainly don't need you fucking protecting me from those decisions."

He stared at her, his jaw in a hard line as his foot nudged the bathroom door shut . "You done now? So we can talk through this together?"

"Together? Like we technically are now, in this room, except we really aren't most of the time. Because, if you've noticed, on the scale of ten-to-shit for talking, we're in the shit column. And I'm tired of it. I'm just…I'm tired."

"And this makes it better? Since when are you a wealth of information? You want to talk? Let's talk."

He had moved up behind her, closer, careful not to touch but hovering close enough that she heard the slight crack in his voice. For a moment, a pin could have dropped on the floor, and they would have heard it as loudly as an avalanche. Then she tore from his eyes and ran a hand through her hair, exhaling as she turned around.

"We can keep everything else about our numb detachment from the rest of the world off the table, but let me just say…I find it more than a little offensive that you think because I came here to help you, that I'll just blindly go along with whatever plans you make. I don't sacrifice my independence for anyone."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that what you really think? Jesus Christ, Selina, I'm not trying to take your independence or keep you in the dark about anything. I thought if you weren't fine with Italy, you would have said something by now."

"What does this have to do with Italy?"

"Lucius is just delivering the plane that we'll be using when we want to head out of here. He needs to get me familiarized with it. And he brought the materials we'll need to create new identification."

"That's a pretty vague setup for all the secrecy," she replied, and her tone belied the word _secrecy_.

"I hate to disappoint you, but there was no secrecy. Yes, I knew he was coming, but he couldn't tell me exactly when. Remember, I'm dead in Gotham. You know they actually buried me? Funeral and everything."

Her spine stiffened at his admission as he continued.

"He wasn't taking any chances, Selina. We're three weeks removed from a takeover of that entire city. You remember, that big monumental occasion that drove us up here in the first place? I've spent the last few weeks trying to fight my way into getting some semblance of a life back, a life I might enjoy living. Except I don't have anything but you, and now I can't look at you without feeling sick inside, because I know that if blink, you might be gone."

_Rip. Twist. _ The band-aid had been torn now and tossed into the space that hung between then. She swallowed the heavy air and shifted back and forth from foot to foot. She could feel his eyes boring into her, imploring her to say something. And she ached. She utterly ached for him. If she had been able to go back in time and rewind and reshape the life that had filled her with so much doubt and coiled her full of dread, she would have. If she could have traded with him and been the one to take on that burden on that final few hours in Gotham, she would have. And if she could have made herself believe that they could fly across the ocean and believe in some kind of happy ending….well, it sounded like a fantasy now.

But she did know, every time she looked at him, that the pain confirmed whatever feelings had managed to creep up on her since the day she had vaulted out of the window at Wayne Manor. And for Selina Kyle, _feelings_ crushed her, clawed her, pounded her , and made her waking thoughts instruments of torture. It scared her more deeply than any adversary ever would.

"I'm not going anywhere," she finally whispered. "I'm just sick of us having survived, having lived, and we're dying by degrees inside. I warned you how things could be. You need to let me make the decisions for _my_ life."

Partial relief flooded through him, yet he felt his chest pounding with a strange, quaking rhythm. And still, he didn't touch her. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Just go talk to Fox," she relented. "I know he's just trying to help. I'll be fine."

He nodded as he left the room, but didn't reply. He didn't have the words to tell her how much he wanted that to be true.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: **I'm sure you were all wanting to tar and feather me after the last chapter! So I promise that while this one is very Selina-centric, it provides the balance and (I think) a little bit of the steps forward that you're all looking for. One of the most fun things for me, in writing this couple, is exploring all that Nolan didn't get to tell us about Selina in the film script. I feel like we've gotten to know Bruce Wayne pretty well over three films, but with Selina only being a part of this final installment, there's so much more about her that we have the opportunity to piece together for ourselves. I've always been a bit fascinated with psychology, especially in writing, so I had this itch I had to scratch in exploring who she is and what makes her tick. Yes, she can be immature at times, and stubborn, and brash, but Bruce has always had guiding forces like Alfred and Lucius there for him. In my world, Selina hasn't had the luxury of the right people surrounding her, so her behavior isn't always what it should be, at times. On that note, this chapter may as well be dedicated to singer/songwriter Sara Bareilles, whose song _Gravity_ became my theme for how Selina feels about falling for Bruce, and hearing it on repeat allowed me to finally get this chapter cranked out (that, and seeing TDKR in theater again). In celebration of the movie finally passing $1 billion worldwide, I have to say a billion thanks to all who continue to read, rate, and respond to this story. :)

* * *

**Chapter 14 **

Blame is easy to pass around.

In a world where drifting alone has created both a reason for being and a colossal hole inside, Selina Kyle knows that passing blame can make you feel better and worse than you've ever felt.

She shudders as she lets her shoulders, then her chin, and finally her face slip quietly beneath the calm glass film of the lukewarm bath water. Her eyes prick with tears she can feel even as ripples of water burn against the closed lids, but she manages to hold them in. Selina Kyle does not cry. Blame is easy to pass around. But she hasn't seen this level of it.

This is new to her.

To be both broken and whole. To feel both complete and in shambles. To feel claustrophobic, and want him beside her. To feel both safe, and absent of security. To trust completely, and to be dark and uncertain. To feel your feet on solid ground while gravity sweeps you away, with no net for a safe landing.

She knows that they have a certain level of camaraderie, born of not having a full emotional understanding of the world and of the people around them. But she doesn't understand what he needs of her, and he doesn't understand what she needs of him. Though they are so much the same, the disconnect has caused so many cracks in something that should otherwise be good for them. _Is_ good for them.

She folds woefully into the tub and wraps her arms around her knees. Her breath tightens in her chest. She knows that she is angry and hopeless and frustrated and grieving all at once at this time, and it truly has little to do with the fact that Lucius Fox had shown up without her prior knowledge. Part of the unrest came from knowing that, for some reason, Bruce had some type of plans for their jaunt overseas that he didn't seem to want her involved in. But the _real_ crush of anxiety came from Selina feeling so out of control when it came to her own heart.

Just the idea alone that anyone could pull any type of emotion out of her was like a gavel coming down with a loud_ crack_, shattering her carefully-maintained self-image that she played by nobody's rules but her own. If she hadn't needed a heart to pump blood through her usually ice-cold veins, she would have believed that she'd been walking around without one for years. With everyone she had lost along the way, life had been a bit like living while dancing on the head of a pin. Then Bruce had come along and she'd begun laying herself bare for him, each of them expecting the other to cut and run at any given moment.

The man she had been expecting as Bruce Wayne – back when she'd first taken that assignment from Dagget – had been the image she'd upheld of _all_ of society's wealthy elite…snarky, arrogant, unflappable, above it all. The Bruce Wayne she'd encountered in the manor that night had given her reason to abandon all of her predetermined qualities about who a person might be under all of their riches. The Bruce Wayne that she knew had fought beside her, had taken her hand and helped her into his crazy flying contraption, had guided her with certainty on a path to what could have been her true escape and freedom from everyone and everything. But even as she'd been set to abandon Gotham and abandon _him_ on that final day, his invisible but constant presence had flagged beside her. She thought back to that man at the masquerade – the one whose straight-lipped expression of worry was cowed by his definitive that's-all-you've-earned-for-now-grin. Somehow, all of those Bruce Waynes had blended together to form the man whose presence filled up this cabin they'd been holed up in. A man whose very presence crackled against hers like a broken, live wire flirting with water. The energy always flared between them. At first, she'd wanted him mostly for the thrill of the shock. Now, she wanted him because their awareness of each other was like a photograph pasted on her mind's eye. Indelible. Immortalized.

Overwhelming, with an intense relief that she imagined happened for sane, normal people who found the person they'd been looking for to complete them, and happily, eagerly made their lives about _two_ people instead of one. _Normal_. Nobody who ever knew Selina Kyle before this day would likely use her name and the word _normal_ in the same sentence. But Bruce looked at her like she was normal. In fact, the way he looked at her was what rumbled around her head more often than not. She had no proper words to describe it, but the flecks of chocolate brown, green and gold that made up his dark hazel eyes often looked at her with a sense of awe, with a sense of pride, with respect and compassion and so many other words she couldn't name. It wasn't so much that he was trying to see _into _ her soul…it was that he _already_ saw it, saw it without trying, and passed no judgment on what was revealed to him.

Selina pushed her head up out of the water and sat for several moments, resting against the cool surface behind her. The gut-clenching, contradictory feelings slowly began to recede, but she knew they would linger at the wispy edge of things like an afterthought, waiting for the right opportunity to thrust themselves back into the limelight. It was like dread that slinked away but still loitered at the corners at her mind, dangling pictures of her jumping from rooftop to rooftop, a blackened, invisible blur against the night sky.

She stood and swept her hair back with her hands, forcing the excess water to drip down her spine and land in the swirling water that got sucked into the drain. Then she stepped over the side of the tub and carefully towel-dried herself as she pulled the bathroom door open and listened for voices to carry up the landing. She could make out vague words here and there…something about flight plans…double-slotted trailing edge flaps…turboprops driving three-blade propellers. The aerial and mechanical talk would have bored a lesser woman, but the conversation happening between Bruce and Lucius Fox made Selina's ears perk up slightly. Of course, she had never flown a plane by herself. But she had, when the situation had once called for it, wormed her way into the lives of a few yuppies whose pockets were lined thick with money and who thought their ownership of personal aircraft would automatically turn Selina into their personal plaything. So sad for them that she'd been as interested in their wives' jewels as she was in their supposed aviation hobbies.

She knew that she wanted to see this new toy up close, but the thought of having to go downstairs and face the inquisitiveness of the two men had nearly the same appeal as taking her turn in front of a firing squad. She weighed her options for a moment, and then began slipping on clothing that would allow her to be the most agile – black leggings, a form-fitting black sweater, flat black boots with thick treads. She'd have to make do without good gripping gloves for now, and she hadn't tried a stunt like this in a few months, but what good was a bit of fun if it wasn't _dangerous_ fun?

Shutting the bathroom door quietly and sliding open the window with an expert _pop_ of the locks on each side of it, she perched herself on the edge of the tub, then hoisted herself up on the lip of the window. The blast of cold air that hit her square in the eyes sharpened her senses as she surveyed her surroundings below. She estimated that the wraparound deck was probably a good forty-foot drop, and since it was covered in snow and ice, a direct fall would probably cause her to shatter one or both of her ankles. Her easiest route down would be to grip the outside of the bathroom window ledge, guide herself over to the bedroom window ledge, then shimmy down the small but slanted roof above the dining room window, which was then only about a twelve-foot drop to the deck. It was risky, and not very smart to attempt without gloves, but Selina's mind often rose to any challenge that presented itself. The trick was to move faster than your mind could actually think about your actions. It was a psychological maneuver she had taught herself long ago: _Always pretend that you're standing on solid ground_. If you don't tell yourself you're falling, nothing can hurt you.

It was a little different doing this in broad daylight, but she made quick work of her task, her fingertips thankfully refusing to numb up against the temporary death of the outside temperatures, and her clothing ending up only in minor disarray as she landed with a soft _thud_ on the icy cold of the deck. She stayed on her stomach – below the frames of the windows that shown into the main floor – to slither backward down the steps that led to the back of the house. From here, she could creep through the woods and hit the clearing near the water without being seen. She had correctly assumed that the plane had landed on the barge they had originally docked on when they had flown in weeks ago, considering the 227-meter strip was about the only surface for miles that wasn't totally frozen over.

A wind blew through her as she approached the waterfront, chilling her to the bone as it rustled and fingered its way through the surrounding trees, and frozen grasses, and wilderness-type things. But Selina Kyle knew cold, too…the cold that festered in every cell of the body on nights when shivers and the sound of chattering teeth echoed against the filthy sidewalks of Gotham's Narrows. _That_ was cold. This was just a minor nuisance, considering she'd made the pigheaded decision to slip outside without a jacket.

As she slipped closer to the aircraft that loomed in front of her, a rush of adrenaline took over and warmed her from the outside in. So _this _was the flashy piece of machinery that would carry them on her first jaunt across the pond. She surveyed the twin otter design with its fixed tricycle undercarriage and instantly knew that it wasn't as mechanically bold as The Bat, but it also had extraordinary payload and wing tanks that couldn't be seen with the naked eye. The model was fitted with both skis and floats, and from the outside looked like it easily had interior cabin space of fifty feet in length, ten feet in width, and about seven feet in depth.

"Hmmmm," she mused as she crept around the cockpit entry and contemplated an easy way to pick the lock for a better peek. "With impulse equal to change, and force and acceleration constant…we'd need a breaking force of about 2450 to land this thing in a tight space."

She hadn't realized she'd been speaking out loud, so the voice that answered hers came as an initial shock.

"Actually, Ms. Kyle, the breaking force multiplied by the time gives the landing space the momentum and reduces the plane's momentum. But that shouldn't be an issue, considering it has a cruising speed of 338km and an initial rate climb of sixteen hundred feet per minute. It can also run a distance of about sixty-five-thousand nautical miles at a time, so here to Italy, uninterrupted, shouldn't be an issue. In fact, the only downfall of this rugged piece of construction is that it only comes in white."

Selina smirked as she turned and met the sharp-witted gaze of Lucius Fox, who looked neither surprised nor like he minded that she was about to break into his aircraft at any second. She glanced around him as mounting energy pulsed among her limbs, her eyes glittering as the icy water reflected back on her pupils. "Where's your partner in crime?"

A vague expression pulled at the corners of his eyes and mouth, though he chuckled, low and amused at her line of questioning. "He was getting dressed so that he was adequately prepared for the weather, which would make one out of the two of you."

"How chivalrous of you _now_ to be concerned about my state of undress," Selina replied with a wink as she sauntered away from the plane and stood face-to-face with him.

"I'm glad to see that a few weeks alone with Mr. Wayne didn't revert your personality to infinite tranquility." He met her direct stare, unblinking, though his voice still belied a casual tone.

"You were hoping for shriveled up, helpless little waif?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I would think that snowmobiling, second-floor-scaling pseudo-nurse with a penchant for adventure would be a more apt description."

"Touché. The snowmobiles don't have the maneuverability of the Bat-Pod, but I guess not every machine can have a sexy pivot support, now can it?"

Fox grinned, despite himself. This woman really _was_ something else, and he didn't know whether to give Bruce points for persistence, or for suave. He could already tell that deep under the skin, Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle were a lot alike. Fox himself just couldn't figure out yet if he, alone, had enough time and resources to adapt to what were going to be hefty lifestyle changes for the pair.

"No, Ms. Kyle, not _every_ machine is built to keep up with your technological savvy. But-" He turned back toward the plane and rested an arm on the wingspan "—I think you'll find this one suitable. The de Havilland Canada DHC-6 Twin Otter. I believe I neglected to mention the anti-skid breaking system, wing spoilers, and oh, it _is_ amphibious, if need be."

"I'll keep that last bit in mind while we're thousands of feet over the Atlantic," Selina quipped dryly.

"With two able minds guiding this thing out over open water, I'm sure you won't run into any problems."

Selina's features immediate became swathed in a look of disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"It takes a lot to catch you off guard, doesn't it? I want to get you up and co-piloting this thing today. Mr. Wayne won't be able to make a 13-hour trip without a break from the controls. That's where you come in."

A spear of guilt briefly pricked Selina as she realized that this was what Bruce likely wanted to surprise her with all along. She inwardly cringed when she thought again about how horrible she'd been to him, but then eager thoughts of taking control up in the skies bleached into her bones.

"So do I need to worry about a pilot's license for this thing?"

Another quiver of mirth wavered on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. "We really need to have Mr. Wayne fill you in on the full scope of my job duties," he replied mysteriously, the quirky grin never leaving his face.

"Oh? Don't dangle a fish in front of a hungry cat and then yank it back out of reach."

"You seem like an intelligent woman, Ms. Kyle. I doubt anyone dangles anything in front of you that you don't manage to grab onto." He reached into his pocket and Selina heard something _click_, and then the door to the plane fell open with a graceful _swish_.

"Her reputation may precede her, but her claws don't leave any noticeable scratches," came a voice behind her, and she turned to meet the eyes of one clearly entertained Bruce Wayne. When had he learned to sneak up on her like that? And when had she learned to let him?

"Oh?" she asked as her eyebrow formed a perfect, questionable slant. "Or maybe the scratches are just in places that you don't want to tell your friends about."

She turned away and stepped into the plane as Bruce and Lucius locked eyes, Bruce offering nothing more than a noncommittal shrug to Lucius' bewildered expression before they followed her into the cabin.

* * *

White. White. White. The whole world had looked white and fresh from up there, a physical clean slate to compliment the virtual one she had activated days earlier. Despite the fact that now, some six hours later, they were back in the house and she was working her way around the kitchen, Selina still felt the high that the rush of altitude had given her, along with the thrill of satisfaction of being in solo command of a full primary flight display – or PFD, as she now knew it.

Now, under the assault of colors and smells, her attention wandered without her consent. Pasta sauce. Red. Noodles. Beige. Dishes. Blue. Flatware. Silver. Everything looked different somehow, as if light was hitting it from a different angle and ensuring that every nook and cranny was no longer a secret or surprise, instead airing each fold, crease and color of every object to whomever glanced at it. She flipped on an old radio that sat above the kitchen sink, humming along to the soft strains of some old pop song she hadn't heard in years. Any other time, all of these things would have been sensory overload. Would have felt disconcerting. But in this moment, she felt like today had run the gamut of emotions and she'd ended up on the right side of things for a change.

She hadn't realized she'd had an audience. She thought that Bruce and Lucius were both down in the guest quarters, setting up whatever fancy electronic equipment and elaborate tools they'd need to crank out IDs, passports, and whatever other faux paperwork they'd need to get them from point A to point B. She didn't see Bruce – her _wingman_ – standing there, hovering just at the corner of the hallway, deciding that she was much more fun to look at than a computer screen that waited for his attention a floor below them. He liked to watch the way her hips moved when she took deliberate slides across the wood floor, her bare feet in a graceful arc. She had a lot of different, deliberate ways of walking, but his favorite was definitely the sliding sashay, a movement that told the world she knew it was supposed to rotate on _her_ time, and so she conquered the ground unhurried.

For several long moments, he just stared, soaking up her warmth from feet away to combat the chill that had stayed with him from the long walk back to the house. Then he cleared his throat, just loud enough to declare his presence, and she turned her head to the side and smiled at him…a hesitant thing, as though she'd faltered in the midst of him catching her _enjoying_ the sensory noise, but didn't want to admit to it. The warring emotions of the long day made for an odd dichotomy in the tumble of his thoughts, but then he thought back to her in control of that plane that afternoon, and he settled, for the time being, on slightly wistful happiness.

"It suits you," he said softly, caught in her eclipse.

"What does?"

"Having a control variable…something you can put your mind to."

She dropped her head for a second, absentmindedly tucking a stray piece of hair behind her right ear, and then she cocked her head and quirked another grin in his direction. "I'm not a very good backseat driver."

"I hadn't noticed," he deadpanned, but he shuffled a few feet forward, stopping at her arm's length, letting her dictate how the situation would play out.

His pilgrimage hadn't gone unnoticed by her, nor did it fail in having its desired effect. She took a step closer, obliterating the inches left between them, and her voice came out cautious, hesitant. "This is all new. The world has been…mine. I'm used to doing things. Sometimes not always the right things."

"Maybe you'll surprise yourself."

"And if I don't?"

"I don't believe that second-guessing decisions you haven't made yet is proper etiquette for a woman of your illustrious background."

She leaned to wrap her arms around his waist, breathing against his neck, and the world slowed for both of them. "I don't deserve you," she mumbled against the soft strands of hair that teased just below his ears. And she meant it. Even as neither seemed to care about the passing time as she stood flush against him, soaking up the very essence of everything she'd railed against that morning. Even as he kissed her left temple just because it seemed like the natural thing to do.

When they finally broke apart, part of him wondered if he was just being a fool, perhaps playing with fire that would eventually scorch him. But he could also surmise, from the way she felt in his arms, that the world always started spinning again when they touched, and he felt her freely giving herself over to him. It never had anything to do with her being overwhelmed by him. It was simply that he took away everything else for her and that they were just _them_, the two of them, in whatever space and time they occupied. They had existed in Gotham. They had existed in Canada. Surely, existing in Italy was bound to open up a new well of color for them, and an awful bright cacophony of other things. He would be sure that they never felt a sense of repetition.

"I'm distracting you…I should let you get back to fixing dinner."

She looked over his shoulder, toward the cold, soft, squishy slab of red burger she'd been planning on molding into meatballs. Red, with blood collecting in swirling puddles against the yellow cardboard base beneath it. It was then that a memory struck her, of a time nearly two decades ago. She'd been in the kitchen with her maternal grandmother, Rosa, the only grandparent she'd had who had lived long enough for her to know or remember. Her mother Maria's mother, who had once regaled Selina and a much younger Maggie with tales about her native Italy. She had passed shortly after Maria's suicide, from what Selina had sadly but correctly surmised at the time was death from both shock and a broken heart. It was right around the time that the entire family had fallen apart…one of the last times she had ever seen her sister…but she had held the memory of Rosa, perhaps somewhat locked away until now. Until a bit of the domesticity she had been so adamant about not getting caught up in had swept around her, and she was too caught up in flying high to notice, or to reject it.

She remembered, then, too, an anecdote that Rosa had whispered in a very young Selina's ear: _"There's no such thing as a prince charming, Selina. But the man you're meant to end up with is the one who will take you around the world and let you see it through your own eyes."_

"Bruce?" She gripped his elbow lightly as he had turned to leave the room, and he looked at her with surprise in his eyes as their gazes met again. Had heard the little twitch in her voice when she'd stalled him.

"Yes?"

"Fox is going to ask for new names, for our IDs." It was a statement, not a question, even if it came out like one.

His dark eyes slipped into puzzlement for a second, but he nodded with understanding as she stared at him expectantly. In that moment, he felt as though he'd been tied to the tracks, and the train of his life barreled toward him, future at the caboose, happily attached and chugging along for the ride. He had misread her. Had he? But then she….she… smiled. She smiled at him, hesitant. _Is this okay?_ Her eyes asked. _Is this okay to talk about, now?_

"I want my name to be Rosa Selina Maria. Rosa was my grandmother's name..and Maria, my mother's."

Slight peace and contentment passed over his face as he regarded her. "And I'll be Thomas…Thomas Pennyworth."

* * *

Following dinner – which had been a surprisingly light and easy affair, one that flowed with conversation about Bruce and Selina's impending travels and the happenings back in Gotham since they'd left– Bruce had worked late into the night with Lucius. Despite staying up to pack most of their belongings that they wouldn't need over the next day or two, Selina had found herself unable to rest, with too much space unoccupied next to her in bed.

Bruce was vaguely aware of collapsing there next to her some odd hours later, the pain and stiffness in his muscles lessening as he laid himself out flat. He was and wasn't surprised to find her still awake as the mattress seemed to reach up around his torso and tug him down. He sucked down a breath and just existed…tired. Selina's lithe fingers found his clothing, and he lay passively as she stripped him in a gesture that found itself completely absent of sex. Then the sheets flew up and caught the air, settling over them, and her warm body found the crook of his. She settled against him, sliding her fingers over his chest, petting, as he inhaled a long, sleepy breath that bathed his throat with her scent.

"Feels good," he mumbled. "Thank you for making dinner."

He sensed her watching him, but he let his features slacken into something loose and free. He was content to just listen to icy rain pelt the roof above them, hover in sleep and darkness, and let her stare. The curve of her hip aligned with his, and her lace-enclosed breasts rested against his abdomen. She was close and hot and breathing, and behind his eyelids, he imagined her from the sprawl of her silky hair to the slight scar that meshed into the skin of her right hip, to the smallest, barely-there mole at the back of her left knee. He let the image hover there as he drifted in quiet, tired bliss.

"Do you think you'll see him again?" she whispered.

"Mmmm?" he mumbled. His head dipped to the left at the sound of her voice, and he brought his gaze to rest on her and blinked to establish a new front line against the sleep that threatened.

"See who?"

"Alfred. Fox had been talking at dinner about all of the changes in Gotham and how Alfred actually thought you were really dead for a few days. Even if he knows you're alive now, don't you think maybe you should see him? Somehow?"

He breathed deeply. "I'm taking his name, Selina. I'd like to think it will work itself out that I'll see him again."

"Ok," she said simply, and ran her fingertips along the outside of his bicep, relishing in the feel of healing scars giving way to new, soft skin underneath. She shifted and curled, her knee caressing his thigh. "It doesn't bother you that Italy is so far away?"

"No," he said.

"No?"

He let his eyes close again and rest on that bright picture of the café by the Arno in Florence. There would be a terrace, maybe, packed with regular tourists who were just going about their day, enjoying their vacation. There would be waiters and waitresses in crisp, white linen shirts, a flurry of activity among the seated patrons, with Alfred in the middle of the hustle and bustle. It made for a colorful image, and for once, no amount of color – even imagined color – seemed too much for Bruce's head to bear.

"I don't know…" he finally answered her. "I sort of feel like whatever happens at this point…is meant to."

He hadn't thought that she could get any closer, but she managed. Her long and slender body rested fully against him, a solid weight that told him she lived and ached, but for now it was the sort of ache that affirmed instead of one that cut deep. Heat radiated from her skin and into him, and he breathed softly as he resettled in a cloud of small sounds that came from both of them. In that moment, he felt empowered in a way that he hadn't felt in weeks.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN:**So I had this chapter finished a few days ago. But I hated it. So I went back and slightly edited. Still hated it. Went back again today and tweaked it again. Still not totally satisfied with it. A few people made requests or suggestions that I tried to fulfill here, but I didn't want them to seem forced or contrived. So, I hope this chapter meets expectations. :) I'm probably the most critical person of my own work, so naturally, I always love to hear what you guys think.

PS: This chapter definitely earns its M rating!

* * *

**Chapter 15**

The walls around the basement level of the cabin rumbled from the top down as wind ran through the trees outside, the last of the wet winter storm moving west and away from the island. The soft, bitter scent of the small, wood-burning fireplace in the guest quarters tickled the back of Bruce's throat, but he continued to squint at the computer screen in semi-darkness. The morning neared 7:30am, and he and Lucius were already going on an hour of being hard at work again, finalizing multiple flight plans, arranging for a place for Selina and Bruce to stay just outside of Florence, transferring money in the offshore accounts. Eventually, they'd take the final step of printing out identification paperwork.

Bruce glanced around at the many computers, open boxes, piles of documents, printers and wires that were strewn around the table and on the floor. He hadn't realized until now that reinventing your entire life was exhausting work. Doing it for two people instead of one made the process even longer. He flexed his fingers to keep them from going clammy - slight tremors shaking them that had returned since he's been up in the air the day before – leaned down into his hands for a moment, gripped at the bridge of his nose with a pinched index finger and thumb, and then quickly sat up again to observe Fox across from him. His trusted confidant was bent over one of the keyboards, his fingers furiously tapping away as his glasses slid down his nose, seemingly unobtrusive.

"Need I remind you, Mr. Wayne, that a solely-engineered 'death' can create a cosmic I-told-you-so for when we think we have our lives in our own grasp?" He asked the question as he glanced up only briefly, but Bruce drew a deep breath under the weight of his words.

This was a loaded question. He stared at his hands – the Batman's hands no more. It had still been less than a month ago that he'd watched these hands toss other men around in motions that were violent, stress and anger driving him to unleash his inner monster. Then in the aftermath, he'd watched these hands sometimes become unwilling to connect to his thought processes, the nerve endings in his body seemingly crossed as if they wouldn't communicate with his brain or obey any command other than _shake_. Now, he clenched his fingers into fists and stared with an oddly morbid fascination as they listened to his inner command to turn calm and steady. These were Bruce Wayne's hands now, free to build the life he wanted, even if he couldn't build it with the Wayne name.

"A wise man once told me…years back…that he wanted me to know how hard this was going to be," Bruce responded as he pushed his chair back and dropped his hands into his lap. He smirked slightly. "I think this was right after he mentioned something about the tools of my trade not fitting in with the spelunking, base-jumping crowd."

"With all due respect, I think we're past the tough stage. Unless there's something on your mind?"

Bruce shook his head. "Not really."

"But?..." Lucius stared at him.

Bruce leaned back and sighed, working his hands through his hair. How did he explain to Lucius – or to anyone – that he didn't know what his life held for him beyond that rush of adrenaline he used to experience? The rush that came with the wonder as he stood over an apprehended criminal, knowing that the character he'd created was one of the only people in the world equipped with the knowledge, the high-tech tools and the physical skills to do this? Bruce knew those days were over, and was eager to close that chapter of his life for good. However, he couldn't see himself sitting around an Italian villa pushing papers behind a desk, either. His ideas for what came _next_ left him with an unsettled feeling. The only thing he was sure of was that wherever he went, whatever did, he wanted Selina there with him. And now he had made her a promise…that things wouldn't be stale, stagnant, or without the natural high that was currently absent from Bruce's veins.

"I gave myself eight good years to become the king of repressing. Stumbling around until something snapped. Now there's this entire world out there. I've seen most of it but…it's like standing at a locked door and not being able to open it even though you have the key."

Lucius regarded him carefully, the line of his brow even and serious as he carefully removed his glasses and put them back in the case that laid on the table next to him. A case with the Wayne Enterprises logo on it – faded, well-used, with creases that came from being stuffed back into his jacket pocket too many times – that still smelled like new leather. He turned it in his hands and ran his fingers over the emblem…an emblem that signified a company, a family, an ideal, a _man_ he'd given service to for most of his professional life. He knew how Bruce Wayne felt. Change was never an easy thing. But it didn't mean it was a bad thing, either.

"Bruce, maybe you're just afraid of what's behind the door. If you take a good, long, hard look at what you'd do if you could do everything in your life all over again, maybe you'll realize that this is just the beginning. A new start. You don't have to be looking for all of the pieces to glue back together. You'll never get all of those pieces back, anyway. The grief, the guilt…will always be there. But you can't fix everything. Sometimes we need pain to remind us of all of the good things. I think the good things are what's ahead for you."

Bruce nodded and closed his eyes for just a moment, letting newer, safer memories flood his brain, erasing the older, volatile ones a little at a time. But then he opened them and raised his eyebrows, a helpless gaze overwhelming his normally confident features. If it had been anyone else in this room other than the man across from him – except for Alfred, who knew Bruce inside and out – he wouldn't have let them see a second of doubt touch him. But this was a man he had trusted from the beginning of his crusade. Someone who knew his skills, his fierceness, his weak spots. He wanted to stop the conversation, but he couldn't.

"So I'm just supposed to keep throwing darts at a map and hope for the best?"

Lucius laughed, despite himself and the seriousness of their discussion. "That would be very tenacious of you. But if that's your plan, I would suggest alerting your wingwoman to your idea of letting home find _you _instead of you finding _it_.

"She's adaptable," Bruce responded without thinking about it. The immediacy of his reply wasn't lost on either of them, however, and the older man just shook his head as if to say _you've got it bad. _

The silence after his recount hung there for just a moment, waiting for an elaboration. When neither of them seized the opportunity, Lucius turned back to the documents he was piecing together.

"This prolotherapy that you've researched…the hospital is going to need a full medical history. We can get something on paper for your alias, but there are going to be some questions you can't answer for the doctors. Some gaping holes. I think it's important that you fill Selina in as much as possible."

"That's good for a woman's ego, you know...hearing her name first thing in the morning."

The heads of both men turned as Selina walked in, as if on cue, balancing three steaming cups of coffee in two hands. Her hair was mussed in a nest of snarling brunette bits, eyes bleary, and she had donned sleep shorts and the t-shirt she'd peeled off of Bruce when he'd come to bed the previous night. A word choked in Bruce's throat as he looked at her, but he lost the conscious ability to get it out. He just smiled, feeling like some sort of senseless fool. This is when she looked the most beautiful to him.

"Ms. Kyle…you're awake bright and early," Lucius announced, the first of the two men to recover and spring into action by clearing room on the table for the mugs she held on to. She set them with a flourish, nary a drop spilling over the sides, and then she stood, arms crossed, surveying the tornado of papers and electronics and testosterone that crowded the small space.

"I just figured I'd give you a chance to broaden your choice of conversation topics," she replied, good-natured sarcasm dripping from her words. She noticed the way Bruce looked at her, the adoration slowly receding into a simple keen awareness, and she knew she had walked in on a discussion that was just enough to make his emotions looser than they should have been. She could always see when he was still trying to find his place in his own skin. She imagined that she wore that look well herself.

Lucius tipped the mug back and began sucking the coffee down, black – an easy way to win her respect, he seemed to realize – and his eyes watered with the slow burn of the scorching liquid passing through his throat, the jolt of caffeine instantly hitting his veins and the aroma slapping him in the face to finally, fully wake him. He looked at Selina through the healthy buzz he'd just acquired, seeming to wrestle with the impression that this woman gave off.

"We uh…we were just talking about my medical history," Bruce finally spoke up, his brain now providing him with the words to use as fuel for speech. "We can't give the clinic in Italy the full medical write-up for Bruce Wayne. But nor can we walk in there and give them the full rundown on all of the reasons for this latest round of injuries. We're going to need to tread carefully so as not to raise suspicion."

Selina blinked with a faux innocence as she gazed between the two men, _wanting _to respond with a carefree "Maybe I'll just tell them that you like it rough," but deciding that she'd spare Bruce his dignity for the time being. Instead, she simply shrugged and walked around to perch her arms over the back of Bruce's chair, her fingertips toying with the knots in his shoulders through the thin fabric of his shirt. "I don't know…money talks," she mused. "They might not have a whole lot of questions for someone who can pay them in full, up front."

Lucius nodded in agreement as he watched Bruce seemingly relax at her touch, the sweeping shadow of despair that had passed over him earlier now a mere afterthought. "The lady _does_ make a point," he responded as he pushed one hand off of the edge of the table to bring himself to his feet. "And actually, Selina, I'm glad that you've joined us. I brought something with me, yesterday, that I wanted to give you, but…" He paused, looking momentarily flustered, touching a hand absentmindedly to his graying hair as he processed his words. "I just didn't know when would be the right time. IF there was a right time. But seeing as how I'd like to get you folks on your way by the end of the day…"

"Lucius?" Bruce asked questioningly, feeling Selina's hands pause and tense at his back.

"I'll be right back," Lucius called as he headed toward the garage bay, his brown pants, loafers and beige sweater disappearing down the hall. Bruce reached up to his shoulder to cover one of Selina's hands with his own, as if sensing her question that lingered in the air, unspoken.

"I have _no _idea," he mumbled as he looked up at her, and he could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes, hear the _thump, thump, thump _of her heart, harsh and distracting as she frowned at him. He knew this was not his cue to ask her if she was ok. Really. The answer was self-evident, anyway. She'd already said she'd hated surprises, and he was learning not to poke and prod her at inopportune times just to ease his own worry.

In an effort to distract himself, he reached out with his free hand and gripped a fistful of papers on the desk, waving them to capture her attention. "We've filed two flight plans. One gets us out of here by late afternoon, and one by early evening. The later one is in case we're not ready by the afternoon deadline."

"I've got mostly everything packed," Selina replied as she wiped at her face, her voice trapped in a weary crush. "We should probably just do some laundry before we head out."

"Laundry." Bruce turned his face up in a playful pout. "That's something else I need to master. I guess if you can learn to fly a plane, I shouldn't have a problem mastering liquid soap and fabric sheets."

Her lips quirked into a haughty smirk as she dropped her chin down to rest on his head. "Oh you poor thing. The washing machine isn't on the list of evil villains you've conquered?"

"I guess it's just one I've been too afraid of all this time," he replied in an amused, self-deprecating tone. "I thought bats were way high on the list, but household appliances are probably tops."

"Says the man who patched his own auto-pilot."

They stayed like this in companionable silence until footsteps echoed in the hall, and then Lucius reappeared, looking flustered, fidgeting, processing the scene before him. In his hands, he held a simple, gray ceramic container.

"Selina," he stated as she stood fully upright and stared slack-jawed at him from her position behind Bruce.

"Is that-" she asked pointing vaguely at the urn. But she couldn't finish. Just couldn't finish.

Lucius looked down at the jar with slight remorse etched on his features, his face flooding with whatever color would allow itself to show there. He shifted, as if still debating his actions, not knowing this woman in front of him well. But he trusted, from having seen her in action, that she was strong enough to handle this.

"Gordon did an extensive database search, but couldn't locate any next of kin for your roommate," he explained simply as he set the container down on the table with a soft _thud_. "Rather than burying her with the rest of the unidentified from the uprising, or having her ashes end up in a Gotham landfill…we just thought that maybe someone who knew her would have a better idea of where her resting place should be."

Bruce watched Selina carefully, watched the knives of hurt and weariness creep across her posture, watched a sad smile creep across her lips, watched the lump form in the front of her throat that she swallowed as she cleared her throat with effort. He wanted to reach for her, but he stopped himself, knowing that she could handle this, and would.

She glanced down at the urn, then to Bruce, then to Lucius. "The reason they couldn't find family in the database is because she used an alias for her surname. Her real last name is Robinson."

Lucius nodded, his movements tight, understanding. "Listen, I know this is a lot to put upon you. I just wanted to give you the chance to know that she wasn't just disposed of. But if you'd rather that I take care of-"

"No," Selina cut him off with decisiveness lacing her voice, the syllable strong as it rolled off of her tongue and she placed her hand up to silence him. "Thank you for, um….for taking care of her. I think…I think I'll take her to Italy. Spread the ashes there. She always wanted to see the world."

She reached out carefully, hesitantly, then her hands clenched around the container that held her friend's remains. It wasn't decorative. Or particularly noteworthy, save for its contents. After a long eternity of moments, Selina shivered. Not because a cold air had crept in and chilled her, but just for the finality of the moment. This could have been her. An entire, vivacious life cut down to a twelve-by-six-inch space with a simple, etched nameplate stuck on a biohazard-style tag across the lid.

She had known her friend was dead. Known it. Faced it already. Dealt with it, but that had been in a far away, safe place inside of her head. Now the reality was in her hands, and she didn't quite know what to think, or to feel. Sadness? Anger? Nothing? Maybe something else? She wobbled between these emotions like a baby learning how to walk, back and forth, back and forth, falling every other step. Sadness. Anger. Nothing. Something else.

Finally, she released the urn and stepped back from the table, drawing out a long breath as she did so. "Do you have our identification printed yet?" she asked. It was barely audible, but Bruce had made out the words as they fell from her lips.

"No…why?"

"I think I changed my mind about my name. I want her to live through me. I want to use her last name."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, her mind made up, and both men felt better because she seemed calm but determined.

"I'll get it taken care of," Lucius assured her as he sat back down at the computer.

"Ok." Selina nodded and rubbed her hands down her arms to ward off the goose flesh that still jabbed at her skin. "I think I'll just….I think I'll just go shower then. Try to finish packing." Then she turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

She was exiting the bathroom in the master bedroom suite an hour later when the steam stopped billowing around her and she made out Bruce's form perched on the edge of the bed. He was relieved to see that there was no tormented look as their eyes met. She was relieved that he had given her some time and space to deal with things on her own.

"Lucius took the plane into the city to get it fueled up," he started, feeling like it was a safer conversation starter than asking how she was. "Everything is taken care of. Now we just…finish packing."

Cloaked in a towel, Selina closed the distance between them and looked down into his eyes, resting a hand on his knee. It was light. Just enough to show she was there, just enough to breach the borders of the casual and into the territory of trust. Of carnal. Of open, in that moment.

"It's going to be weird, leaving this place," she murmured, one palm reaching out to smooth his hair back.

He leaned into her touch, a soft smile on his face that made her quiver with a feeling of rightness. They made each other's worlds right, even when that world was sometimes crashing down around them. "Why?" he asked, a soft murmur against her wrist as he reached out to still her.

She shrugged. "We're kind of in the middle-of-nowhere wilderness, but…I don't know…" she trailed off. But she did know. They both knew, but neither would say the words. That this was the place where they'd discovered the first step to whatever kind of peace laid beyond the hell that was Gotham. Every moment here hadn't been the best, but this place had awakened something in both of them that had been dormant for far too long.

Selina gave Bruce a coy smile as she used her free hand to drop the towel wrapped around her, her incisors pressing into the pearl pink of her lower lip. "What do you think about throwing our own, private goodbye party?"

He stared at her through hooded, dark eyes. Mesmerized. There was something different about her. Her mood shift. Her desire. He didn't know. Whatever it was, it became her and seduced him all at once, and he was glad that they had this time alone to work through it. She was all beautiful curves and flat planes, feminine symmetry and softness that he would find thrilling and sexy from now until the end of…whenever.

He reached out to grasp her, sliding his palm against her navel as he leaned up to capture her lips, desperate to leave their stamp on this little corner of the world. Their tongues mated in a smooth, soft show of affection, and she inhaled deeply against him as a delicious tension began coiling within them immediately.

There was a frantic rush to remove his clothing and then they were collapsing back against the softness that enveloped them on the king-size bed. The air made him twitch, not quite a shiver, and her pupils dilated as she looked at his naked skin. She touched his chest, her palm against his thundering heartbeat, before she dropped her head and placed a soft kiss there. He swallowed, fighting the sweet lethargy of the moment, knowing she was treading on territory she hadn't ventured before.

He turned on his side and flashed a wicked smile, drowning in the sea of her magnificently luminous, chocolate- brown eyes, and then proceeded to pepper her breasts with tender, barely-there kisses. A moan fell from his lips, against her still-moist skin, as she slid her hands between them and touched him, her warm hands sliding along his foreskin. The sensation of friction as she gently pumped him robbed him of his thoughts, and he pressed against her hand with a deeper groan. He let her continue her ministrations for a few minutes, until she felt him hard and ready, and then he leaned up to press his forehead against hers as he lifted one of her legs at the back of her knee and carefully entered her body, slowly sliding himself inside inch by swollen inch until he filled her up completely.

It was sensual and intimate, their deep and intense eye contact heightening the eroticism of the moment. Refusing to break their stare, Selina brushed his hair back before cradling his handsome face in her hands. Unspoken truths passed between them then as all of their longing, lust and passion materialized in the infinitesimally small space between their flushed faces.

And it was only then, when Selina couldn't stand it anymore and suddenly crashed their mouths together, that Bruce finally moved, rolling them to pin her underneath him. She arched her back, opening her legs wider for her skilled lover, planting the soles of her feet against the mattress as he began thrusting with a slow rhythm, the slap of flesh on flesh spinning more into a slick _grind_ as he paused on every down stroke. He let his eyes peruse her body, and she painted an amazingly erotic picture, her breasts bouncing and swaying with each _slip, slide _as he disappeared deep inside of her. He was completely transfixed by their fit and the way she accepted his entire length.

"Faster Bruce...I can't..." her throaty request vanished into the heavy air in the bedroom, and breathing was becoming increasingly difficult as she fought to hold onto the last vestiges of her sanity. But her attempt proved to be completely futile. Her earth-shattering orgasm was imminent, and all she needed and craved was Bruce exploding right along with her. Rather than using words, Selina grabbed Bruce's hands, effectively removing them from her shaky knees and silently urging him to come closer, then snaked her slender legs around his trim waist and her toned arms around his neck.

The skin-to-skin contact was dizzying, absolutely addicting, and he relished the sound of her sharp intake of breath at the feel of her breasts flattening against the muscled wall of his chest. Bruce groaned at the feel of her inner muscles clasping him so tightly, as if summoning him into oblivion with her. But still he resisted, instead continuing his measured movements in such a way that kept them both halted on the edge of bliss without quite pushing them over just yet.

A sigh escaped Selina at the fleeting feel of Bruce's lips when he outlined the curve of her jaw while continuing his powerful lovemaking. "Bruce!" she cried out suddenly as she felt a fiery jolt of pure electricity course down her spine. Opening her eyes, she cradled his handsome face and was instantly robbed of breath as she watched him. He was so beautiful. His eyes were shut tightly and his dark hair had fallen across his forehead. Her eyes then followed the perfect curve of his broad shoulder to his well-toned arm. His muscles were taut with his exertion as he kept himself from completely taking her. Everything about his strong body screamed of his restraint; he was trying so hard not to let go just yet.

But there was nothing she wanted more than to feel the full extent of his weight pinning her to the mattress as he came in a frenzy right along with her.

Brushing his hair back away from his face, Selina pleaded with him on a soft whisper, "I'm so close."

Opening his eyes, he was taken aback by all of the emotions so clearly visible in her gaze. And in that very second, she finally opened up to him completely, letting him plainly see the extent of her feelings for him in just that one single look as she held his gaze captive while reaching to grab hold of his hand, anything to further solidify their deep connection.

Bruce's heart swelled as he relished every single level of intimacy in that specific moment in time. Then Selina squeezed him tightly using her inner walls, and he lost it, his orgasm suddenly erupting from deep inside of him. Clutching at her body, Bruce pushed inside of her harder and harder, faster and faster, drowning within her until his trembling and aching body gave out on him completely and he finally surrendered. And just as he spilled himself hotly inside of her, he watched her eyes roll back as he pushed her over the edge, her own climax overtaking her frame as her tight walls spasmed all around him. Her name rolled off of his tongue in a raspy shout, and she milked every last drop out of him as they lost themselves in each other.

For a long while – and for the first time he could remember - they remained in a tight embrace, basking in their perfect fit, neither one of them ready to break their carnal bond just yet. Sighing in contentment, Bruce rested his head on her chest and let himself be lulled by the sound of her erratic breathing while she traced invisible patterns on his sweat-slicked back.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her—how he felt for her so deeply or how he couldn't imagine things changing beyond this day. However, he couldn't trust himself with finding the right words to properly express his feelings to her. Not in a way that she would understand. Possibly in a way that she wouldn't verbally reciprocate, even if her actions told him something else completely. Deciding that for the time being he should keep those precious words to himself, Bruce settled with simply smiling up at her as he traced the delicate curve of her wonderfully flushed face with the backs of his fingers.

"So, can I interest the lady in joining me for a trip overseas?"

Selina smiled down at him before pressing her lips to his in a soft, tender kiss. Pulling back a bit, she looked up at him dead in the eye as she replied in all honesty, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Her words were like music to his ears. Gently slipping out of her, he gathered her body in his strong arms and pulled the wrinkled sheets over them. They could pause for just a few more glorious minutes, and then they would be _up, up and away…_


	16. Chapter 16

** AN: **A million apologies for this chapter taking so long for me to crank out! I can't tell you how much I appreciated some of the messages asking when the story would be updated! I think it's awesome that you guys not only read it, but missed it! I wish I could spend all of my time writing, but sadly, real life has seemed to interfere more often than not lately! I hope this chapter turns out to be worth the wait, and I did make it just a tad longer than usual in an effort to offer a real apology for taking so long with it. :) This chapter is honestly a bit of filler until the next turn in the story, but again, I'm a pretty big advocate of not putting anything into a story that I don't think will add to it somehow, so I hope you guys don't mind a little bit of a "Bruce and Selina travel chapter" instead of any major points unfolding yet.

I also tried to be as authentic as I could with my descriptions, so another reason this chapter took so long was the research. Anything you read in this chapter actually exists, from the plane controls to the airport and the descriptions of the sights in Florence. That's all just me being picky and paranoid with my writing, but I feel like this couple deserves some authenticity!

Thanks again for reading! As always, I would love to get your thoughts/reviews.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

The situation didn't really sink in until Selina found herself pulling her seatbelt across her lap and watching Bruce reaching to turn the engine knobs on the overhead panel. When he flipped the engine's fuel switch to 'on', he looked to his right and gave her a nod, signaling her to finish their pre-flight checks of the cockpit. They had gone through this drill the day prior, but as they strapped themselves in and negotiated for takeoff clearance over the radio with B.C.'s control tower, the situation suddenly become as real and as vivid as the cloudless skies that had made way for them. The winds were light and the forecast looked like it was going to be mostly clear until they made their way about several hours east.

She stole a glance at her co-pilot, noting how any anxiety he had carried over the past several weeks had seemed to roll right off his shoulders. His back was square, his jaw was set, and his eyes were focused dead ahead, concentrating on the task of actually getting them up off the ground. Steady hand, cool head. It reminded her so much of the way he had focused as he strapped a nuclear bomb to another flying device, that she had to look away for fear the memory would burn her. _When was it going to be enough_, she wondered, _to look at him and know that he's alive? _

Departure on a standard runway was tricky enough for even the most experienced pilots, but here they were dealing with trying to negotiate their way off of a several-hundred-foot barge that still bore the effects of the harsh weather Mother Nature had dealt them. She watched in the side mirror as Fox backed up another thirty yards or so, and began signaling Bruce to accelerate. Bruce pulled back on the stick, and they both felt the overwhelming weight of the aircraft struggle against lift and then break free as the wheels left the ground. They were officially airborne.

Selina watched, fascinated all over again as the ground seemed to sink beneath them, getting smaller and smaller until they were eye-level with snow-capped mountains and the white and aqua ice below looked like the sky turned upside down. The sensation of horsepower outrunning gravity was seductive, but she knew that they both had to be focused on the task at hand. Once they reached altitude, Bruce radioed the tower again as they turned into heading, and she checked their clipboard to confirm their flying speed and gas use calculation. They had hours ahead of them – _hours_ – and she silently reminded herself that this was going to be the longest they had spent in any extremely confined space while both of them were awake and cognizant of their surroundings. If he'd felt at all that it was different to _really_ be alone, flying off to the great unknown when they _weren't_ in a moment of extreme peril, he didn't show it. Nothing about his demeanor precluded the need for serious discussion beyond the standard platitudes, and she was grateful that he had said and done nothing to acknowledge the moment she had bared her soul to him earlier in the day.

The vibrations of the plane roared all around them as she slipped her headphones off and pulled out one of the guide books to Italy that had somehow mysteriously appeared amongst their belongings when Fox had helped them load the plane earlier. She would take advantage of the few hours of daylight they had left before she needed to help Bruce navigate the trickier dark, which would be a whole different realm of flight. As soon as she began flipping through the chapters, however – those that ranged from subjects like _General Transportation & Driving in Italy _to _Currency & Money Handling_ – her brain automatically began to run in circles. This was a _lot _of information…a _lot_. She had managed to let Bruce talk her into believing that traveling across the world was something simple and understated, but she could see now that it was, in fact, a very big deal. And it wasn't as if she felt anymore that he didn't value her independence. She was certain now that he did, as evidenced by the last twenty-four hours' worth of events and his standing back and letting her learn to fly a plane, getting her input on their travel documents, and trusting her to deal directly with one of his longtime confidants. But this book? This book made her realize that the world was indeed a big place, and that she had been given free reign in her first judicious act as a world traveler to go wherever she wanted, to be whatever she wanted. Except these thoughts were preceded, accompanied and followed by a weary chorus in the back of her mind, a chorus that kept asking, _Do I even deserve this? _

She swallowed hard as she realized that months before Bruce Wayne ever came into her life, her first impulse would have been to swing to the other end of the spectrum, delighting in her newfound role as a jet setter, crushing those around the globe who dared to get in her way with the swift kick of one serrated heel. Now it seemed like there were just remnants of that person picking at her brain…the rest of the woman she was slowly becoming was more practical, wondering if their travels would destroy whatever was left of Bruce's financial portfolio. Not that she even knew – or dared to ask him – what he had left. Fox had assured them that he could get Wayne Enterprises back into decent financial shape once Gotham began to dig itself out of the rubble and began to rebuild. The process of funneling any future profits into offshore accounts, however, would likely be one that didn't come without its fair share of scrutiny.

She continued to flip through the pages for a while longer, not really reading them or seeing them, but merely trying to find ways to pass the time as the altitude pressure thrummed in her head. The funny thing was, the plane that Fox had clearly spared no expense for wasn't even loud enough anymore to provide a distraction to the silence that had seeped into the space around them. None of the fancy bells and whistles of the cockpit kicked any sort of ambiance into the air. The ducts that balanced the equilibrium between outside and inside had resulted in a comfortable temperature, and she almost wished that Bruce desperately needed her to help him keep an eye on the skies…anything to counteract the fact that all she could hear was her own blood rushing in her ears.

The book fell shut as she leaned forward and used her index fingers to worry at the socket of her eyes. When she opened them again, she felt Bruce's careful, concerned gaze on her before she even turned her head to look at him. A momentary pang of guilt stung her as she realized that she shouldn't be distracting him from the concentration he'd been trying to maintain, but then, she also had no idea why she continued to experience this yo-yo of elation to fear of the unknown and back again, which had been wrecking havoc with her emotional sense of balance for the past several days.

"Everything ok?"

For a perfect moment, she wrapped herself in the rumbling sound of his words and his softness and his strength, and she knew where she was again. There. In a plane flying off to her clean slate. Next to Bruce Wayne. The man who'd gotten her off the island. He'd kept his promise. The _only _man who'd ever kept a promise to her.

She looked at him with her smirky face, the one she'd perfected and the one he knew by heart now – knew by her deep, expressive eyes and the turn of her lips whether she was being sarcastic or serious, playful or petulant.

"You know, usually the more time I spend around a guy, the less I like him," she answered, helpless at her natural instinct to grin at him even as she _was_ being serious. "I've never been one to stick around when the conversation turns to psychoanalysis."

He had reached up to move his earpiece down to rest on his shoulder. "So you have high standards, then?" he quipped.

"Or bad luck."

"Maybe your luck is changing."

"Mmmmm. Maybe," she mused, and he wished that he could explain to her that until her, he had experienced life sort of like a camera. He had ventured from corner of the earth to corner of the earth, from Gotham to the gates of hell and back again, from seclusion and isolation to ornate rooms filled with elitists whose pockets were lined with paper evil. Every time he had wound up someplace new, he would open his eyes and discover that the world had changed in his absence. Often times, the new kaleidoscope that would come into focus would either rob him of his focus, or challenge him on his quest to rid the world of criminals. Given some time to adjust to any particular situation, he would sometimes get a clear picture, and snap. Then the lights would bleed out as the flash bulb went dark. But somewhere, in the midst of the past several weeks, Selina Kyle had not only cleared, but had brightened that entire picture for him. And he could see them taking snapshots. In Italy. All over the world, if she wanted.

"You know," he said as he resettled his gaze on the waning daylight ahead of them, "hindsight is sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse. You can't let yourself keep going back to mistakes you've made, or worrying about how they're going to impact your future. I know it seems like all of this just happened. Like it's all happening now. But we're both still here, so we must be doing something right."

"You're a fine one to talk," she countered. Her tone held a haughty sort of mirth, but there was a simple truth to it. "You haven't taken the time to bring any closure to what you've left behind."

His mouth settled in a firm line as he shook his head. "I hate that word."

"What word?"

"Closure. It's one of those neat, clean words. But what happened back in Gotham…there was nothing neat or clean about it."

She waited. Sixty seconds, to see if he'd elaborate. To expand upon the fact that Wayne, Bruce was one of the last names on the long crawl of death and pain that had been updated out of Gotham in the weeks since their departure. The list of those injured continued to be much shorter than those who had perished. Bane had wanted to kill, to inflict the most severe forms of torture on all human kind, and he'd been successful. Chillingly, alarmingly so. But at least he'd failed where it had mattered to him – and to Talia – the most. Failed where it mattered to Selina the most. Bruce Wayne may have been listed among the casualties, but he was a survivor in every sense of the word. He would have the scars to prove it, for the rest of his life. Scars that would never go away. She knew he was healing, physically, but he'd had yet to mourn for the symbol he'd left behind. For that decision he'd made to potentially give _everything_. She didn't want or need to see him fall apart. But he'd had yet to acknowledge what – if anything – he remembered about that day they'd escaped Gotham for good.

_When she'd found him floating in the escape pod and managed to pry the roof hatch off, he'd had his eyes open to bare slits, and she'd had to hit him more than once to force him to stay awake. Stay with me, she'd said. Over and over. Yelling. Begging. And then she'd had to watch him moan when she'd summoned Fox and they'd forced him to move. Forced him onto a makeshift backboard they'd fastened to the Bat Pod using pieces of the broken bridge that had exploded above them earlier. Forced him over and over to make his body do things he had no reserves or fortitude left to do. He'd passed out as she navigated the debris-covered streets, his lips parted, pale like chalk, and dread pricked at every fiber of her being as they reached Leslie and she'd provided her initial grim assessment. Even when they'd managed to stop the bleeding and he'd reached what they thought was a certain level of stability, his eyes only fluttered open to bare slits, and he'd done little to indicate that he felt any pain from the pressure they'd put on his numerous wounds. _

_There should have been an explosion of pain across his features, his shallow breathing should have sharpened into something frantic – something, anything – but he remained mostly still, barely pushing oxygen through his nose when Leslie had fitted him with a mask over his battered face. As Leslie had removed his neoprene suit, Selina had squeezed his shoulders gently with her palms, stroking her thumb along his deltoids. His skin was cold and clammy, and her mind churned with things to say. You don't get to die, she'd raged. You don't get the privilege. This would be worse than watching the explosion, she'd lamented, hoping to guilt him into breathing normally. And when that hadn't worked, she had hit him where she hoped it would sink in, in whatever part of his brain could hear her – that she hadn't come back to save his ass just to watch him go out before she could prove to him that there was_ _more to her, indeed. He had wheezed then, slight inhalation after slight inhalation as she touched his face and pulled her fingers softly through his hair, even as Leslie tried to move her away. He had leaned into her caress, blinking widely, almost as if to say that this was a ridiculous discussion that she was having with him, if this was going to be the last discussion they'd ever have. _

Those memories had held like a noose around Selina's neck since that day, but with each day that he thrived, those memories had faded a bit and made way for new ones. New ones where they fought and made up, drove each other half crazy, and also got along alarmingly well. She is his surprising thief, contradictory, but she is also his truth. And she knew that eventually, the truth of the magnitude of the last plane ride they'd taken together would hit him, too. Again, it's not that she wanted to see him push his own self-destruct button. She wanted him to deal with it and move on. One more deluge off the list. Because despite the negative that always seemed to swirl in her gut, a positive swirled in her heart. Half the damn time, she had no idea what they'd say to each other, or how things would go. But somewhere between that last plane ride and this one, she'd found her path on the edge of a razor and she believed that he had, too. They were both so close to slipping off into something….something good, she hoped.

The conversation between them had lulled like a freight train that had made a sudden stop and couldn't find the power source to go again. Bruce had returned to squinting through the windshield, studying the nose of the plane intently, trying to be sure they had the right airspeed nailed for passing over the highest peaks of Calgary's Rocky Mountain range. He had wanted to give them a bird's-eye view of some of the most breathtaking scenery they'd see on this side of the Atlantic, but as he watched the wind speed change the camber of the wing and tail of the aircraft, he wasn't entirely sure that he'd be able to drop them to a reasonable but safe altitude. Selina looked down and realized what he was trying to do, and reached to touch his arm gently.

"Remember what Fox said about ball balance. Bring the height back and we'll hit smooth air. You can ditch the control wheel and we can stay level."

The corner of Bruce's mouth turned up as he listened to the information tumble from her mouth. "You want solo control?" he asked, and her eyes lit up in response.

"I thought you'd _never_ ask," she purred.

Bruce flipped a switch that turned the dual control system over to the single Nasal scripting module and modified instrument file on the copilot inputs and protocol receiver, and Selina settled her earpiece back over her hair as she re-guided the plane's nose to give them back the altitude they'd lost.

When he looked at her face, filled with such determination, he admired – for what seemed like the hundredth time – what a formidable force she was. The woman always knew what she wanted, even though she could be stubborn as hell and wouldn't even take someone else's personal experience as a power to move her from her own mindset. When her mind was set on something, she pursued it relentlessly. But where she could come across as ferociously unrelenting to others, to Bruce it was refreshing that Selina would always be entirely truthful with him. He could count the people he'd trusted in his life on two hands and still have fingers left over, but he trusted her - _with_ his life.

They hovered over the spectacular mountain peaks, and she stood to admire what was essentially the 180-degreeview offered to them. When he didn't move to join her, she turned to eye him curiously. He was watching her…just watching her…his chin resting on the arm that he'd propped up on the panel in front of him.

"What are you doing?"

He offered her something clipped. Not quite a laugh. Not quite. Just a soft sound, deep in his throat, that accompanied the smile teasing his lips and the glint in his eye.

"Just…admiring the scenery."

* * *

They touched down at Aeroporto di Firenze – Peretola Airport – some eleven-and-a-half hours later. Bruce and Lucius had done extensive research on which air strip would provide Bruce and Selina the best opportunity at flying under the radar and maintaining relative anonymity when they reached Italy, and this small airport in the Tuscany area, just outside of Florence, would also provide them with a holding area where they could make arrangements to store the aircraft.

"My God, Bruce," Selina breathed when they actually stepped foot on foreign land, and he gifted her with an honest-to-goodness ear-to-ear grin. She had been impressed when they were making their descent, but that first full view, even from a good distance outside of the inner city, was intoxicating. Dizzying. She was still a bit anxious, and it was clear that all of the signs – at least those at the airport – were in Italian. It was like they screamed at her, in all shapes, sizes and colors. _Ritiro Baglagi. Dogana. Controllo Dell'immigrazione. _She barely knows where to look as she turns to start unloading their suitcases from the belly of the plane, but despite her nerves, she's moving in that refined way that she's learned over the years, and Bruce is beside her and giving her a hand, speaking in an English-Italian mixture to an airport attendant who surprises her by bringing around a car.

"Thought of everything, did you?" she asks. It's a lighthearted question, though her instincts are to trust no one aside from him, her guard always up. This will be the first of many strangers they'll encounter, and she has to resist the deep urge to assume that everyone is out to get them.

"Can't just land in Italy with no plan," he responds with a wink.

"Le madonna è bellissima. Quali sono i vostri progetti?" the attendant directs at Bruce, and he answers in full-fledged Italian that makes Selina flutter somewhere inside.

"What did he say?" she asked when the attendant walked off and Bruce began guiding her around to the passenger side of the vehicle. In response, he slips his arms around her from behind, catches her chin, and tips her gaze toward the Florence skyline.

"He said," his lips soft against her ear, "that the lady is beautiful. He asked what our plans are. And I told him…it's up to the lady."

She leans back to rest against his shoulders for balance, settling her arms over the ones that wrap around her stomach, interlocking her fingers with his. They're out in public but not hiding, and the gesture feels as intimate as anything physical they've ever experienced together.

"No one has ever called me a _lady_ before. Although right now, this lady is jet-lagged, drained and slightly hungry," she responded as they soaked in the view together. "And yet…I want to see everything. I wouldn't know where to start."

"Well…how about dropping off our belongings first, and then if we still feel up to it, we can do some sightseeing around the city?"

She turned in his arms, a look of concern etched across her features. "How's your head?"

"It feels like…we've been flying for thirteen hours."

She sighed and pulled away from him, both irritated at herself for not considering that his head was probably pounding from the altitude, but also touched that he'd given her a pretty straightforward answer. "Ok, so we'll rest first, and then we'll explore."

He shrugged and couldn't help but to look amused. She had clearly forgotten about the extreme time difference. "It's early evening, Selina. We technically lost a day. So I'm thinking…quick peek at Florence, we'll grab a bite to eat, and take it back to the hotel with us. We can get the keys to the house in the morning, or in the next day or two."

"The house?"

"You'll see." He nudged her toward the open car door again and rolled his eyes at the less-than-pleased look she gave him as she settled in and he shut the door behind her.

After a quick stop at the other end of the air field to exchange some of his currency for Euros, he deftly navigates them over the dust-caked roads on the outskirts of town, until they merge into Florence's cobblestoned streets, and Selina is immediately wide-eyed at the culture overload. Many of the buildings that they pass by are bathed in a reddish-orange hue, their architecture immediately giving her the feel of being in a truly Renaissance city. The clock towers and sculptures that line the streets all beg for her attention, as do the many churches and Brunelleschi's famous dome soaring above the terra cotta roofs. When Bruce pulls up next to what resembles a glorified combination grocery shop, wine bar and trattoria, she almost forgets to move as she's so busy observing everything through the car's tinted windows.

She hears bells ringing across the city, mixed with the whine of scooters that zip through streets that are light on automobile traffic. And then there are the pedestrians themselves, either immersed in conversation with lots of animation and gesturing, or talking intensely on their mobile phones. "Civilized disconnect…a worldwide phenomenon" Bruce murmurs as he pulls a ball cap over his head, takes Selina's hand and leads their way into the restaurant.

The seats around the mosaic tables inside look to be filled with mostly American tourists, including several women seated together who blatantly gawk at Bruce as he and Selina stroll by. The look Selina shoots them is enough to make them instantly find another distraction, although she can't blame them for staring. Even incognito, his face half-covered by the brim of the cap and dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting collared shirt, his well-muscled physique was something to be admired. But admired by _her_ and her _alone_, Selina thought as she closed her fingers tighter around his and leaned against him as they stood in line to order. He felt the uncharacteristic pull of her weight against his hand but said nothing.

"You know, it's kind of crazy how on our first night in Italy, I'm letting you get away with getting me a sandwich and taking me straight to your hotel room," she said quietly, a hint of slyness rolling off of her tongue. "You don't even wine and dine a girl first, Mr. _Pennyworth?" _

He turned his head and smirked at her, one eyebrow raised as he leaned in and quickly brushed his lips across hers before she could even react. "Somehow I think we're past the first date stage, _Ms. Robinson_, although I have it on good authority that there are far better ways to impress you than expensive food and booze."

"If you heard technology turns me on, it wasn't _all_ a lie," she whispered against his shoulder. "But about that wining and dining thing…yeah, I'm more of a _room service_ kind of girl. And I'm not talking about food."

He gave her a heated look as she laughed against his shirt, his appetite suddenly forgotten. But as they ordered and walked out of the restaurant with bags in hand, he thought about how he wanted to show her, as well, that the promises he made about making this trip _more_ for her weren't empty words. He wanted to show her that whatever this was between them wasn't just about the physical. He knew now that he needed her the way he needed other necessities in life, none of them having to do with the riches he was born into. She had rejuvenated and restored him from the countless worries that once plagued his mind. He wasn't looking over his shoulder for the next person with a gun to come along. She had made him see the lighter and more interesting side to life again. Sometime throughout the course of the past month – although he couldn't exactly pinpoint when – he had experienced a moment filled with brilliant clarity. A moment that showed him no matter what words and pent-up emotions and fears they threw at each other, they would see the other side. They were too much of the same person not to.

He tucked her safely back into the car and navigated their way past some of Florence's most notable markets, jewelry stores and street-cart crafting vendors. It was all Bruce could do to keep his eyes on the road when he wanted to watch every curious and wide-eyes expression on her face, especially when the Ponte Vecchio arching over the Arno came into sight. The detailed, handcrafted design of the bridge was noticeable even from their distant view, and Bruce was satisfied when they pulled up to the hotel and discovered that many of the cafes along the banks of the river were still within walking distance.

"Why are we stopping here?" Selina asked as he guided the car into the self-parking roundabout. He wasn't about to trust a valet with the only vehicle they had that contained Bruce Wayne's belongings, even if it was a five-star property.

"This is the hotel."

She looked up – and up – and gawked, sure that her jaw was hitting the floor of the passenger side of the car. "Here? It looks like a-"

"Palace? It's a converted one."

"You've got to be kidding me."

Two staff members out front rushed to open her door, and she stood there taking it all in, figuring that she should probably take a moment to pinch the arm of the girl who had practically grown up on the streets of Gotham. She didn't feel just an ocean away now. She felt _worlds_ away. She would still hold her head high, looking polished and cool and every bit like she belonged, but she was definitely regressing back into the _overwhelmed_ stage.

"Let's go inside," Bruce said as he guided her elbow and they followed behind the gentleman pushing their baggage cart through the ornate, gold-plated doors of the Relais Santa Croce. The lobby didn't disappoint, immediately wrapping them in the luxury of a bygone era filled with modern comforts, where sumptuous furnishings met gorgeously detailed fresco ceilings. Both of their gazes drifted everywhere at once, although the woman at the front desk immediately focused her attention on them, greeting them in nearly-perfect English as she flashed her teeth in a wide smile.

"Welcome to the Relais! My name is Franchesca," she said before looking back at her computer, the clicking and clacking of her manicured nails accentuating her words. "And you must be…"

"Ah, it should be under 'Pennyworth'," Bruce interjected, and produced a neat stack of folded paperwork from his pocket.

A flash of recognition lit up her features as she surveyed the documents he'd handed over, and she immediately produced room keys without so much as asking him for any form of payment. "Ah, yes! The Royal Suite couple. It's all been taken care of for you. You'll notice that the suite is technically separated from the rest of the palace by a landing between the de Pepi and Verazzano presidential suites on the third floor. This will ensure your full privacy as well as VIP treatment available to you 24 hours a day."

"Thank you, but I don't think we'll be likely to be requiring any additional service for the duration of our stay," Bruce responded in a hushed tone. "Privacy is uh…_paramount _for our visit. And you can be sure that your staff will be handsomely rewarded for their discretion."

The woman nodded knowingly and pushed the key cards toward him, signaling off the eager concierge members standing on the sidelines as she did so. Bruce lumbered into motion, grabbing their two roller board suitcases off of the cart and handing Selina the cards and the hotel information packet. They trundled together to the small elevator at the far end of the lobby – also encased in gold, she noted – and rode up in silence, glancing at each other because words seemed somewhat pointless as they continued to take it all in.

When they exited the elevator doors and crossed the landing they'd been told about, Selina slid the key card into the lock on their door while Bruce leaned against the wall beside her. The light on the lock stayed red as it flashed and beeped at them. Frowning, she flipped the card around and tried again. And again.

"I think I might have to break us in," she mused out loud, and Bruce gave her a withering look in response. "Are you sure you're doing it right?"

"Of course I am," she snapped, but then apologized to him with a glance because she knew it was just the exhaustion and jetlag prodding both of them at this point. He nodded at her and pushed away from the wall.

"Maybe," he said, taking the key gently from her hand, "we pampered rich boys need to be the ones to open the doors to our _royal suites_ with a little bit of dramatic flair."

Her eyebrows rose as she snorted. "Dramatic flair? Or did you just mean that it comes faster if _you _push it?"

He smirked in response and stuck the card in the lock. The light stayed red, and the beeping almost seemed to whine at them louder.

"You know, you're right. All that _flair_ you gave it was the answer, pretty boy."

Bruce grumbled. Tried again. Got another shrill beep for his troubles. Which was when his light and joking demeanor seemingly cracked around the edges. He leaned against the door and sighed a deep, tired sigh that told her just how exhausted he really was. If she hadn't been living with him and all of his post-concussion symptoms for the past month, she wouldn't have recognized the signs. But even as he was working to stay with it, she could see the saw the slump in his shoulders, the sagging in his back, and the slightly glassy quality that picked at the edges of his retinas.

"Other key?" he asked tiredly, all hints of playfulness now gone from his voice.

She handed it over to him and the key thankfully worked on the first try. It was probably good that they practically fell over the threshold of the door together, because both were stunned at the ornate, vastly rich quality of the décor spread out before them. Even Bruce, who gagged at his own wealth and had spent most of his life abhorring it, couldn't help but to be impressed. Predominantly dark leather furniture mixed with colorful brocade sofas, forming a contrast to the pale walls and the elaborate ash and gold designs of the frescoes. A long wooden table sat opposite a gleaming white marble fireplace, in front of three doors that opened onto the upper-level internal courtyard of the palace.

They continued to move around silently, taking in the antique furniture that lined the hall to the master bedroom, which looked out onto the Via Ghibellina and provided stunning views of the churches that sat blocks away. Then there was the main bathroom, which contained a hydro massage bath for two, a sauna, plasma television and baskets upon baskets of the finest Italian skincare products. Selina, in her stupor, didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"You know…this really is obnoxious," she finally said as she settled on words. "Obnoxious, but perfect and-"

He silenced her as he gently framed her face with his hands and covered her mouth with a tender kiss. Not the kind reserved for buildup to a passionate tryst, and not the kind that made promises of days and nights to come. His mouth, rather, just moved over hers delicately, with a simple awareness and tenderness that he couldn't express in words. And so this was her first true memory of Italy – where Selina Kyle let Bruce Wayne sweep her to a different place, a subconscious place deep in the seat of hope.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: **Hello all of my lovely BatCat readers! A few quick notes with this chapter, because I'm feeling a little blunt today. :) One, I simply adore everyone who has taken the time to leave feedback on this story. I know I say that every time, but feedback is the only way that we writers here know if anyone is paying attention to the stuff we write, AND if they like it. A special *wave* to the readers and anonymous feedback-givers out there who spike up the view count on this story. I'd love to hear from some of you!

Second, some reviews and private messages have seemed a little put off with the amount of Bruce and Selina sex that has come up in the story. Let me just say that I ALWAYS use feedback to help me shape future story elements, BUT - yes, there's a BUT - I also don't ever include details in my stories that I don't feel actually mean something to the story or help to shape the characters. I rated this story M from the beginning to ward off anyone who felt uncomfortable with mature content. While I'd love to be able to please those of you who want a story free of love scenes, I've also gotten quite a bit of feedback from people who say they'd prefer _more _love scenes. Trying to appease both audiences isn't easy, so here's my warning for this chapter: half of it revolves around sex, but it also includes dialogue that moves along the story and gives you a glimpse of some things to come in future chapters. I don't plan on making Selina pregnant, but I also don't plan on making Selina/Bruce have a long, drawn-out conversation about birth control.

Third, I have been BEYOND spoiled by the amazing Bruce/Selina fics "You Look Better in Pearls" by Team Damon and "In the Dark of Day" by slingblade125. Giving a shout out to both writers for being my inspiration for getting this next chapter cranked out. I've dealt with a lot of writer's block lately, but reading their work is rejuvenating, so if you all haven't read those stories, what are you waiting for?!

* * *

**Chapter 17**

When Selina opened her eyes several hours later and let the present day bleed back into her view, she wasn't entirely sure if it was still the night they'd arrived, or technically the morning after. The room was still semi-shrouded in a cloak of darkness, and jet lag was starting to pull at every pore. She was most aware, however, of the hypnotizing gaze that bore into hers as Bruce lay on his side watching her, a peaceful smile turning up the corners of his mouth. One of the things she loved about the way he smiled lately is that they were big, bright smiles, and the emotion behind them gripped his eyes – a look that he reserved primarily for her.

If she would have known that before her, Bruce Wayne had rarely smiled and meant it, the heart she didn't think she had would have fallen into hundreds of jagged pieces.

She wiped her face with her hands, unable to stop herself from both smiling and blushing – a look she reserved primarily for _him. _

"Hey," he said, his voice soft and happy and just…Bruce. "Can't sleep?"

"Not if I can feel you watching me while I try to. So what's your excuse…headache?"

He shook his head and reached to pull her closer under the thousand-thread-count sheets they were folded into, then kissed the top of her head as she pressed her nose into the dip between his neck and shoulder that she could happily spend hours acclimating herself to. Silence pressed between them for a heartbeat, and the only sound in the room was the sound of the comforter crinkling and steady, even breaths as he wrapped around her like her own shield from the world.

"There's something that I wanted to tell you, about this place," he murmured in that soft lilting voice that made her feel calm deep in the marrow of her bones. He pulled back slightly to look down into her eyes, his firm hands running up and down her arms and her back in a soothing wash of sensation. "This hotel…the extravagance…that's not me, Selina. That's not who I want to be anymore. The room was a gift from Fox and I wanted you to experience this because you deserve it, but I'm ready for a more casual lifestyle beyond this. I'm-"

"Rambling. You're rambling, and you don't have to explain," Selina interrupted as a wry laugh fell from her lips. Her stare was onyx in the dim light of the room as her head tilted. He didn't blink as he reached to cup her face, running his thumbs in a soft caress along her jaw. His hands felt warm. Vibrant. His fingers slid back tenderly into her messy hair.

"So you're not just staying here because of my offshore accounts?"

She snorted. "Don't forget about your credit cards."

"Thomas Pennyworth doesn't _have_ credit cards…yet."

"Mmmm…remind me to get to know him better when he does," she teased, and then a surprised grunt escaped the back of her throat when he gently tugged at the back of her hair to expose her neck to his wandering lips.

"Maybe he wants to get to know you better _now_," he rasped, his teeth gently flecking at her pulse point and lips wandering to what he knew was her most sensitive spot just behind her right ear. He felt her tremble against his solid form, a flush creeping over her skin almost instantaneously.

She shifted as she felt her toes twitch, the senseless need to _have_ this man overwhelming her again. She couldn't make any sense, logic, rhyme or reason out of the insatiable sexual appetite he managed to illicit in her. Selina Kyle had never wanted, nor craved the warmth and depth of a man the way she craved a connection to Bruce Wayne. She stared through fluttering eyelashes over his shoulder, the massive and Romanesque shadows of Florence enchanting her through the open window, and she sunk her hips against his and locked her right foot behind the back of his left knee.

His erection pressed unyielding against the cradle she'd created, and he couldn't stifle the low, rumbling groan that dissolved from his lips at her blatant invitation.

"You're kind of forward for a girl I'm meeting for the first time."

"Don't be jealous, Bruce" she hissed as her fingers found the waistline of his boxer briefs. "Thomas isn't the one I want."

"Want?"

"Need," she whispered – a confession – and everything inside of him unraveled.

Her fingers slipped beneath the elastic band at his waist, into the warmth below. His lips parted as she cupped him, her thumb and index finger circling and tugging playfully at the base, and then her sweet mouth was covering his as every nerve ending sent pleasure shooting straight up his spine.

"Selina," he growled as she kissed him, breathed his air, drank in the sound.

"Yes?" she asked in a smile against his mouth. She stroked him, dragging the nail of her thumb around the tip that jerked against her hand, a victorious thrill shooting through her at the knowledge that the thick, hardened muscle and heat flaring in the stiff veins pulsing against her palm was created _by_ her, _for_ her.

"Don't start a fire you can't put out," he leered as he rolled over her, straddling her, digging his palms and fingers into the mattress on either side of her shoulders. He made quick work of the flimsy camisole top she wore, slipping the straps roughly down her shoulders and impatiently tearing down the center of the material until it shredded around her stomach and he could pull it away.

"You owe me a new top," she murmured and laughed, the warm sound of it vibrating through both of their chests.

"It'll go on the eventual credit card."

He nipped at her lower lip as she pulled his boxers down. One inch. Two. Then three, and more, down over his kneecaps until he was able to kick them away. A sigh escaped her lips as she felt the length of him pressing against her stomach, and she pushed against him again, greedy and without shame for the roaring lust that rushed through her blood.

"I want you," she breathed, and their eyes met as they shared a long look. His chest squeezed as he pulled in an anxious breath, because all she wore now was the scrap of lace underwear she'd fallen asleep in, and the look he gave her as he hooked his fingers underneath the tiny slivers of fabric at her waist and _pulled_ made her shiver in delicious anticipation.

It was _that_ look that always, for a short moment, made everything make sense to her. She could forget the location, the traveling, the past, and all of the people in it. It wasn't just a look he reserved for when they were in bed, but it came most often when they were naked and exchanging pointless, flirty banter. The look told her that this banter could roll off of his tongue because he was alive and able to have as much stupid, pointless conversation with her as he wanted. That look told her that he wanted her. Desired her. Trusted her. There was nothing wrong in her world when he gave her _that_ look.

He quickly rolled off of her and back onto his side, snaking a hand underneath her to maneuver her so that she was facing away from him. Then he was reaching around her body to splay his hand against her flat stomach and then down lower, into the soft, warm, wet space between her thighs. He pressed his middle finger into the sensitive nub of flesh he found and dragged it up and down, around and around, making slick circles as a string of unintelligible sounds escaped her mouth. She rested her head back against his right shoulder and bit her lip, and he knew when he hit the right spot because her breaths shortened and her lower body rose forward to meet the touch of his hand, then pressed back to guide the curve of her rear against him.

He read her signals like she read his, and when he felt warm fluid trickling down around the back of her thigh, he moved his hand from her front and used it to separate her legs from behind, then pushed all the way inside of her without any further encouragement.

Heaven.

Her warmth settled around him as they both stilled for a moment, adjusting to this angle and the somewhat curved grip she had on him. But all she had to do was squeeze him once, and he was lost to the instinctive nature to grip her hip and rock against her, her left arm settling over his and fingers curling around his as he pushed inside and retracted, slowly at first but then with increasing speed as Selina began driving back to meet him in time with his motions. The sound of their activities – skin slapping skin, soft moans and the repeated creak of the mattress against the headboard – filled the air, further heightening the eroticism for both of them.

"You're so tight from this angle," he choked out, her cries spurring him on. His right arm that had been trapped at his side snaked up over her shoulder, then ventured south to roll against her nipple that had puckered in the cool night air. His hand splayed against her breast as it swayed with her motion, and now instead of thrusting he was draping himself tightly against her from behind, his forehead resting against the back of her neck as he ground himself inside the confined, slippery warmth that defined her center.

His lips sucked at the nape of her neck and then blew cool air where he'd left a raised purple mark, and what started as a low moan built itself into a pulsing scream that died on her tongue when he reached up and allowed her to bite down roughly on two of his fingers as he began to coax her orgasm out of her. Her thighs clamped tightly as the silky steel inside of her hit her womb, pulled away, and pushed back in at a frenetic pace that took her higher and higher until she needed to hold on to something – anything. Her left hand that had been clamped around his guided his fingers back to the swell of her clit, giving him a map to what would make her come undone, and as soon as he touched her there and drove into her simultaneously, her muscles tensed and she called out as she began thrashing against him. All around him. Syllables flying out of her mouth that, out of context, sounded like moans of pain, but he knew her well enough to know that it wasn't pain at all.

Moments passed in blissful, drawn out succession as the wet sheath of her spasms gripped him intimately, drawing him into his own release that caused a wave of heat to spread through his groin, and his jaw slackened against her shoulder as became blank and drunk on the pleasure and tension of it. He struggled to watch her gaze while he was pressed so close to her face, but for a moment, seeing her undone by need overwhelmed him. He was in awe at their intimacy, at the level of trust she had to allow him to take her there, and he loved that he could do that for her. To undo her. To build her up. To help her find moments of euphoria.

He pulled her into his arms as they both twitched and panted and eventually came down from their high. She rested there, half collapsed, until their breathing relaxed and she felt him slip out of her. Then she turned and looked at him through eyelids that hung low over glazed, sated eyes, her fingers curling against his chest as she placed a soft kiss over his heart. That had become a tradition of sorts for her – her mark that branded him deep, deeper than she'd ever understand.

"I definitely know that was _all_ Bruce Wayne," she croaked weakly against him. "That was really…really…"

"Selina Kyle, speechless?" he snickered, and he pulled her close and kissed her gently on the lips, proud that for now, he could do this well if nothing else. To cause all hints of their pained past to be fully buried during their intimate moments. To never make him doubt what he knew about their feelings in those moments. To find that sort of confidence, even if it was a limited thing. It was freeing. Like putting himself into a bubble where Batman had never existed and where everything was just…right. Even when his headaches gave him trouble and the pains in his body reminded him of limitations that still lingered, she made him feel whole. Undamaged. Like the bruises and scars were on the surface, nothing more.

He gave her a sated smile and briefly kissed her again as she ran her fingers gently through his hair, then his gaze grew more serious.

"I meant what I said earlier, Selina. I don't want these things…possessions, wealth…to define me. Having some financial security again is…nice…but I need to just be comfortable. Not extravagant."

She stroked his arm. "You know I'm ok with that. And you know, Mr. Wayne, I could actually deal with seeing you _slumming it_ in jeans and a t-shirt on a daily basis."

It was as much an admission of a desire to spend their future time together as she had ever made, and for once he realized that for all of the brooding he'd done over things that he didn't like about himself, having a living, breathing example beside him of someone who was learning this turn-black-to-colors behavior _with_ him helped him establish reasonable doubt about his own self-criticisms.

Maybe they really _were_ healing together. Like he'd thought about weeks ago, in the cabin, when she unleashed her fear and fury and didn't quite know yet how to accept this other human piece of herself.

"If I tell you something, do you promise not to get mad?" he asked suddenly, and she shifted and looked at him with a raised eyebrow, frowning.

"No," she said simply, but honestly. "We cannot have gratuitous sex on these thousand-dollar sheets as a precursor to you asking me not to be mad. Out with it, Wayne."

"Fine," he murmured as he pulled said sheets tightly around them. "You remember yesterday I said something about a house?"

She nodded.

"The house is actually hours from here. Eight to be exact, in driving distance. On the southernmost tip of the country."

"And _why_ would I be mad about that?" she asked, confusion dotting her brow.

He brushed back the loose strands of hair that sweat had pasted to her neck. "When you told me your grandmother's name, I did some research and found out that many of your relatives on your grandmother's side actually came from Otranto, Italy. That's the city where the house we're renting is. I was thinking…maybe you'd want to see where some of your family came from. The family that meant something to you."

He held a deep breath and waited for her to rail against him, expecting it to be a miracle if he got away with maybe her raised voice or a slap across the face for his invasion of her privacy. So he was shocked, when, instead, she dropped her chin to compose herself and then eventually looked back up at him with just the slightest hint of wetness glistening in her eyes.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted softly, deep and shaky at the unfamiliar pent-up emotion inside of her that felt like a near-bursting balloon. _How does he keep managing to do this_, she wondered. _To keep making her feel so very unlike herself, or who she thought she was_.

"You don't have to say anything," he reassured her as he exhaled gratefully. "And we don't have to go there if you don't want to. We could-"

"No, I want to go. I want to see it. Maybe not right away. I want to see Florence first. I want…I want you to get that treatment you came here for. But I _do_ want to see it."

"Okay," he replied sleepily, that smile reappearing in his eyes again. He shifted onto his back and pulled her with him, her left side resting flush against him as he held her close. Moments passed, and for a long, stretched silence, he listened to her breathing while she listened to his heart beat, and they were both strangely content. They could both listen to this for hours. A pure, simple sound that told each other they were both alive, safe, and beginning their fresh start on the right foot.

* * *

"Can you even _begin_ to believe this?" she gasped as a million traces of awe laced her voice. "This view is incredible. It's just…"

She trailed off, leaving Bruce to watch her instead of the panoramic view that was offered from the center of the Ponte Vecchio. They had fallen back into a jetlagged sleep that morning, finally fully awakening around 10am Central European Time, and then decided that some proper sightseeing was in order. They had been strolling the city's chalk and paint-covered sidewalks hand in hand for the past two hours, admiring the religious overtones in the pavement artwork, when Selina pulled him toward the multi-colored rise of the arches that spanned out over the olive-green water.

"Do you know the history of this bridge, Selina?" he asked as her eyes roamed everywhere, soaking up the sight of the shops housed under the porticos, the external terraces, the sculptures and busts that made the walkway elegant.

"Should I?" She tried to remember if she had seen any details about it in their guide book.

"Well," he began as he turned to face her, "legend has it that along this bridge, there were many padlocks locked to various places, especially to the railings around the Benvenuto Cellini statue. The idea was connected to lovers who visited the bridge together and locked the padlock, then threw the keys into the river. This way, the lovers became eternally bonded."

The look on her face was...unreadable…as she stared at him, his hands caressing hers absently as they stood there. Her lips had curled into the vaguest hint of a smile, but it was a subdued one. He hadn't wanted to put any pressure on her with his story, but she had heard the very real emotion attach itself to his words as he spoke, and it was all she could do not to look away and mask her face into a mess of something that he wouldn't be able to put his finger on. That feeling of frustration she had become painfully used to clenched slightly at her insides, but it was a brief, fleeting moment that thankfully passed when she willed it to just go away into the abyss.

She opened her mouth to reply, but her stomach rumbled an answer for her, and Bruce regarded her with slight amusement as he looked down. "Hungry?" he asked as he pulled her against him.

"I guess I am. You should be, too. We haven't eaten all day. Can we grab some lunch, maybe?"

He chuckled. Leave it to her to be reminding him again about his eating patterns. "Yeah, we can. But not here."

"Not here?"

"The little restaurants on this bridge are sort of a tourist trap. Let's check out a few of the little cafés on the bank of the river. See which ones may be good for a mid-day snack…" His voice trailed away as he got lost in some distant place. Then he cleared his throat and shook his head. "I'm just not sure how to distinguish yet which are good for food, and which are good for drinks."

She watched him for a moment. She had noticed the shadow that had passed briefly over his face, had watched him frown and collect himself. "We can figure it out. No big deal. Let's walk."

He gave her a weak smile, and she tried not to be worried about the way his voice had paused and twisted. Tried not to be concerned about whether he'd been blinking frantically behind his sunglasses as he had cleared his throat. She had thought that he still might be having a little trouble. Sometimes, she just _knew_. Knew that this aftermath and trying to figure out how to really live life would have some type of profound effect on him, and that in addition to the physical wounds still being fresh, there would also be some type of survivor's guilt always nudging him from just below the surface.

She swallowed and forced it all down, his fingers clenching around hers as they walked off of the bridge.

"So, what are you in the mood for?" he asked after a moment, cheerfully, but his voice was still a little…off.

Any other time, that type of question would have earned him a quick retort from her that had nothing to do with food.

She shrugged. "Surprise me."

"You hate surprises."

"It's about time you caught onto that, Wayne."

That earned her a little chuckle as they continued their stroll, surprised to find that there were not as many distinguishable cafés or pasticcerias on the bank of the river as they had originally anticipated. This was much to Bruce's relief and much to Selina's chagrin, as she was famished and could have done with having a few more choices, but the establishment that they ended up settling on – the Capocaccia – ended up being an ideal spot for them to indulge in light offerings that included sandwiches, salads, a variety of cheeses, and salamis.

Lunchtime conversation between them had been fairly easygoing. They had talked about being bad tourists for eating sandwiches the first two days they were in one of the most well-respected culinary regions in the world. They discussed their need to stop into a few of the boutiques in town and pick up some new wardrobe items, Selina surprising Bruce when she pointed out bold color choices on other women passing by, noting that she'd like to stop dressing all in black.

"I don't know if I'd even recognize you in another color," he'd mused, his voice back to being playful and purposefully arrogant, despite the fact that his eyes scanned the crowd and their surroundings behind the mask his sunglasses afforded him.

"Ass," she said as she glared. "Hello pot, meet kettle."

He laughed. "Point taken. And, you'd look good in anything."

"Or nothing?" she asked in a low voice as she seduced him with a wink. He leaned over and kissed her in response, cupping her chin gently as her fingers curled around his wrist. For that brief moment, all of the noise swelled up around her as she breathed him in. Smells were everywhere. Food. Grass. Water. Clean air. Dry dirt. Damp plaster. Olive. But all she could concentrate on were the soft lips that stopped time for her in that moment. When she finally pulled back with a contented sigh, Bruce pushed back his chair and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, counting out colorful Euros as he moved to go pay their bill.

Selina watched him with mild curiosity as he engaged in what appeared to be fluent conversation with the host at the outdoor credenza. His rich understanding of this and several other foreign languages both fascinated her and made her feel like he had one up on her, and she made a mental note to begin studying Italian as soon as possible. Bruce's body language and behavior as he interacted with other civilians did nothing to betray who he was, where he came from, and for that she was glad. The last thing they needed was anyone thinking they recognized him. She continued watching as he pulled something else from his pocket and showed it to the host and a few waiters who crowded around, all of them shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads at him. When he rejoined her at the table, she thought he might elaborate on whatever discussion he'd just been a part of, but he merely smiled and held out his hand to her.

"Ready to go? Is your stomach satisfied?"

She pulled her own sunglasses down to cover her eyes. "For now. Unless I want _dessert_ later."

Her implied meaning wasn't lost on him, and he shook his head and smirked in response as he pulled her up and they began weaving their way through the café tables and crowded patio. As they neared the exit gate, Bruce paused to turn and look all around them, and she touched his shoulder with slight concern.

"Forget something?"

He blew out a long breath. "No." But he quickly recovered. "So, where to next?"

"Well, we haven't seen Il Duomo yet. Or the Campanile bell tower. Or the Boboli Garden."

He shrugged. He had no idea how far apart any of those attractions were, but he didn't care if he spent the rest of the day on his feet, as long as he was with her. Seeing Florence through her eyes calmed him, guided him…almost made him forget the disappointment he felt at not seeing his former butler sitting among the throngs of people on holiday who were gathered along the river's banks.

_Florence is a big place_, he considered in the back of his mind. It was unlikely he would find him on the first try. It's not like Alfred had any idea that Bruce and Selina were in Florence. _He might not even be out here right now. _

Still, a nagging thought gripped Bruce even as they made their way past some of the city's most breathtaking landmarks, and he might have given over to the pounding in his head if he weren't saved by Selina's animated pointing, beckoning, and genuine trills of excitement every time they encountered another building that captured her interest. Every time her expression changed, he wished they'd thought to bring a camera, as it seemed like such an ordinary thing to do, and that's what they were trying to be – ordinary.

They'd been walking for a good half hour when polychrome marble panels in various shades of green and pink suddenly loomed in front of them, and the streets definitely became more crowded with the crush of tourists who were all gathered around to openly gawk at the dome over Florence's most well-known cathedral, the Basilica di Santa Maria.

Selina had no idea where to look as they stood at the center of the Piazza del Duomo, the Gothic-style design of all three attached buildings – the dome, the Baptistery and Giotto's Campanile – captivating her senses. But then she looked over at Bruce, who was pushing up his sunglasses to rub his eyes underneath, and she sighed.

As he pinched against the bridge of his nose, something jingled and he looked down, trying to focus on the blur hovering in front of his face. A travel-size bottle of painkillers. Selina had it clutched in her hands as her small purse lay open at her hip, items busting out of it like an overstuffed toy that couldn't keep its stitching. A brush. A wallet. A map they'd picked up at the hotel's front desk. Hair clips. Lipstick. She'd had to stop and search for the pills, and he hadn't noticed at all.

"For your headache," she said with a completely serious voice as he looked at her curiously.

"I don't have a…" he began, but then paused. Knew he couldn't trick her. She could see right through him. It was almost as if she could feel the slow throb that had crawled into the space between his eyes and pounded at him.

"You know I'm not taking those. I told you I don't self-medicate."

"You _will _take them," she said with a smile, though it was more like a grimace and the words jabbed at him because he knew how harsh she could become if he let her. He knew she was just trying to help.

He shot her a look as he took the bottle from her and swallowed two of the pills dry, the bump sliding down his throat uncomfortably.

"Thanks," he mumbled, though it was as insincere as anything he'd ever directed at her, and she made a face as she put her purse back in order, jamming the items to make them all fit inside again.

"I hope this clinic can treat you," she said as she closed the purse and gripped his arm again. She had to remind herself that despite the hours of symptom-free normalcy he seemed to have more frequently, brain damage was still brain damage, and there were people suffering from PCS who still had chronic problems months after the fact. People who never managed to heal completely. It was different than the map of bruises and scars across his body that she knew by heart. This was a scar that she couldn't see, one that remained as much a mystery to her and to Bruce as it did to the medical community. What Selina hoped they could provide him with at this clinic was not only treatment, but a definitive answer about the duration of his symptoms and why they were so variable.

"I have a good feeling about it," he finally responded. And he did. He was hopeful, based on what he had read, that doctors could get to the root of the pains that plagued him throughout his body. That the _life beyond the cave_ wouldn't keep pelting him with reminders of how fragile human existence was. He was tired of feeling weary and wanted to be fresh at the starting gate with Selina. If he was being realistic, he had wasted a hell of a lot of time – an almost embarrassing amount – ignoring real life, real people, real warmth. But here he was, staring at someone. Someone warm and real who really…got him. Was cut from the same cloth he was.

"Ready to go up?"

He slipped his hand into hers again, took a deep breath and refocused.

"Up?"

"The bell tower. Just follow the crowd, _RosaMaria_."

"Sure you can handle it? It's a long way up."

He squeezed her hand in response. Smiled a genuine smile. The kind that reached his eyes, even behind the slight mask he wore.

He could make that climb. With her.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: *Blows out deep breath* Finally, a chapter update! Please know that this chapter has been a week in the making. I wrote of it in about two days last week, and then once I read it, I realized that it was a lot darker than I intended it to be. I had planned for it to be Bruce-centric all along. Bruce has a lot of issues that he needs to work through, but I didn't want to make him scary. Plus, one chapter was never going to be enough to work through everything in his head. So think of this chapter as sort of the first half of this one day in Florence for Bruce and Selina. I tried to throw in a little something for everyone - a bit of background and explanation for Bruce's time in seclusion, and also a nugget near the end for anyone craving some BatCat play time. Hope you all enjoy; can't wait to get some feedback! :) **

* * *

**Chapter 18**

Bruce guided the car into a spot on the spacious parking deck, came around to Selina's side to open her door, and wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked together toward the salmon-colored brick arched entryway. This hospital wasn't like the ones back in Gotham, or anywhere in the States. It wasn't one huge, sprawling building or a chain of connected buildings. It was a series of buildings, all curved architecture and lush plant life spread out like a college campus. That it was a hospital at all – with its winding pathways leading up to buildings dotted with far more windows than most medical facilities had, with Italian flags hanging every several feet – wasn't necessarily obvious at first glance.

The Gruppo Villa Maria. The main building rose like a tower in front of them. People were everywhere. Staff walking in, walking out. Visitors walking in, walking out. Sick people, hobbling in and out, being wheeled in and out. Now Bruce was standing still, on the cobblestone walk just under the main entryway, and Selina dropped her head onto his shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze as she saw the doubts momentarily flicker across his face.

"You know, you don't have to do this today," she whispered. It was only their third day in the country. They had time, she had insisted, to see and do as much as he wanted. Whereas he had been the one assuring her before they'd gotten here that Italy held no pressures for them, the shoe was now on the other foot.

He breathed in sharply as practicality coalesced somewhere in the mire of his thoughts.

"I made the appointment, Selina. The sooner I get checked out, the sooner I feel better, right?" He had kept his voice low with the use of her real name in public. He had smiled weakly for her benefit, too, she knew, and she gently took his jaw in her hand and briefly pressed her lips to his in a soft reassurance that stalled time for both of them for just those few precious seconds.

They broke apart and headed through the sliding double doors, and it was the first place since…the pit… that Bruce had actually felt twinges of unsettlement. Unsettlement that was hard to ignore. The big pangs that one would think he had experienced on that final day in Gotham had never quite rung true, as he had been so focused on what he felt he absolutely _had _to do to save the city, that feelings of anxiousness had never crept in. Then, he had been running on adrenaline. Today, his will came partly from the strong woman whose fingers were linked through his, and partly from his own desires to finally, fully put the physical and mental pains of his past behind him.

The woman at the information desk looked up as they approached, and Selina's gaze swiveled around the circular space. She was relieved to see that there were dual signs both in Italian and in English, along with multi-colored, brightly lit floor maps of each level of the facility. It was almost as if to say, _Here's how to communicate and get around if you need to intervene on your significant other's behalf_. She winced at the thought. _Significant other_. It was laughable to give them a title. She and Bruce had never discussed the formalities of what they _were_ - what they _are – _but Selina had a feeling that a hospital, of all places, might be exactly the place where she'd be forced to confront the significance of her presence in his life. If there was any significance at all.

She watched as Bruce slid his false identification and doctored paperwork across the counter smoothly, his face, behavior and body language never betraying that he might be anyone other than who he claimed to be. "Yes, I have an appointment with Dr. Luciano in the department of physical medicine and rehabilitation," he explained, and the woman barely glanced at his paperwork or at him before she responded. "Go straight down this hall, take the elevator up to the fourth floor. When you exit the elevator, make a left and then your first right. That will bring you to the physical medicine check-in desk. If you're a new patient or from out of town, you'll need to fill out the insurance and physical health forms there before Dr. Luciano will be paged for you."

Bruce nodded and they turned to make their way upstairs, both of them grateful that the halls were mostly quiet and not filled with anything other than the occasional squeak of rubber soles against the floor as hospital staff members went about their day. He hadn't wanted to admit to Selina that he hated everything about hospitals, from the rattles of papers on clipboards to the smell of antiseptic and metallic tang of stainless steel in the open air. Even the _ping_ of the elevator reaching their desired destination seemed overtly loud to him, and he gripped her hand tighter as they exited and eventually found themselves where they needed to be.

Selina analyzed the waiting area space as Bruce approached the desk to check in. The plush peach-and-turquoise chairs were arranged in a long rectangular pattern, and two flat-screen televisions played quietly, back to back, on a table in the center of the floor. The seats closest to where she stood were empty, sandwiched between two men who were having a rather loud and animated conversation about patellar tendinitis. Glancing around, she understood why no one else had jumped at the prime location. When Bruce turned back to her with a mountain of paperwork in hand, she steered him toward the other end of the room, the bland walls and tables full of torn magazines suddenly much more appealing.

They sat and Bruce snorted as he held up the first paper for her to see. _Patient Intake Form_. Selina skimmed it and bit the inside of her lip as her eyes met his again. He wouldn't be able to honestly answer most of the questions on it. Everything from _How long have you had this condition _ to _What do you think caused this condition _were questions he would either blatantly lie about or leave blank, and frankly ,he preferred the latter of the two choices. If these doctors wouldn't treat him because he refused to divulge the exact history of how he'd obtained so many bumps and bruises, he'd simply find another facility. But Fox had made some calls for him in advance, and had assured him that no matter what he chose to divulge, confidentiality and cooperation on behalf of the staff shouldn't be a problem.

"Hmmm…_Do any positions make the injury feel worse or better?" _Selina read out loud, and Bruce shook his head at her suggestive tone and the knowing glance she gave him.

"_What?" _she asked, a deliberate faux innocence creeping across her face and into her tone, not unlike the innocence she'd played up on the night they'd first met at Wayne Manor. "I'm only trying to help."

He grinned wryly and tried to push thoughts of Selina's expertise of his anatomy out of his head. Truthfully, he knew that this appointment could end up lasting several hours, and he figured that hospitals likely weren't anywhere near the top of her list of favorite haunts, either. "I know you are, and believe me, you're always a help to me," he said sincerely, one of his hands reaching out to cover hers. Her hand that was absentmindedly worrying at a loose string on her purse, betraying the otherwise stoic façade she'd kept up. "But if you'd like to get out of here for a bit while I'm otherwise occupied, I was thinking maybe you could take care of some of that shopping we'd talked about…"

Selina's eyebrows went up as she grinned coyly. "Maybe get something to _surprise _you?" she purred.

Bruce clucked his tongue playfully, even as the atmosphere kept whispering into the back of his mind that he should be dour and unamused. "You wouldn't be trying to distract me into leaving this hospital and going back to the hotel with you, now would you?"

"Never."

"Liar."

Bruce just…breathed…as he looked at her. Remembered each moment since they'd met with a sharp, cutting sort of clarity. The pictures skipped across his brain, from the time she'd backflipped out of his window and he'd decided not to waste his life any more than he had already, to their first major argument – fueled by stubbornness – back at the cabin, to the moment he'd woken up this morning and had found her lounging on their suite's balcony, her long hair blowing lightly in the early breeze that had kicked up in the dusty city. She had been chewing her lower lip thoughtfully, wrapped in the shirt he had worn the day before, and it was the first time it had hit him that he couldn't fathom _not_ waking up to her presence each day. Now, sitting here, he couldn't imagine going through _any _situation without her. Her presence in his life soothed him in a way that no other assurance could. However, what he'd needed to go through this afternoon was something he wanted to spare her from, at least for as long as he could.

It was lucky for him that she'd saved him the effort of suggesting again that she leave for the time being. She's seen that distant pain that hovered in his eyes, had known that today was about the start of trying to sort out the thoughts and memories running through his mind as much as it was about healing his physical being. Thus far she had resisted her natural urge to bombard him with a thousand questions laced with her own unique brand of snarling, quivery emotion. Had known she should let him drive the conversational train for the time being.

She placed a warm hand on his back and squeezed his shoulder as she moved to get up. "You'll call me when you're through?"

"You know I will." He liked being the only one to have the number to the phone that Fox had set up for her.

"Ok…I'll meet you back here."

She moved away from him, then, their appreciative gazes lingering on each other as she moved down the hall. As Selina rounded the corner and disappeared, Bruce felt a fear quell in his stomach that he tried to tell himself was just nerves at this being the first time they'd been physically, purposely separated in a month's time. He attempted to keep his mindset stoic and unaffected, assuming that Selina was, as usual, carrying a concealed weapon on her and that there was absolutely no harm in _RosaMaria Robinson_ flitting around Florence from boutique to boutique. That's what normal people did on holiday, right? They saw sights, they ate, they shopped, they immersed themselves in culture. Only, Selina Kyle was far from a normal jetsetter, and Bruce honestly didn't know if she had any extracurriculars on her mind other than shopping.

He tried to concentrate as he stared again at the papers in his hand. The papers that wanted him to record his medical history as if his past was a once-shattered puzzle he could fit neatly together. He began to fill in the gaps with his slanted but neat handwriting, deliberately skipping over particular sections that had to do with the 'why's and 'hows' of his physical condition, and instead concentrated on listing the ailments that he'd memorized from his last checkup in Gotham. No cartilage in the joints. Scar tissue on some of his internal organs. Bad knees. And since that time, he'd been inflicted with a spinal injury and even more concussive damage. He let out an almost mournful exhale as he looked at the lengthy list. If this wasn't good enough, there wasn't much he could do about it.

Sounds of the hospital fluttered in his ears as he made his way back to the desk and dropped the clipboard with what he hoped was concealed annoyance. He knew that the medical staff wasn't responsible for the upset twisting in his brain or for the insurmountable list of aches that kept growing in his head into something nearly unmanageable, and he tried to keep this in mind as he was directed through another maze of hallways and into the main examination room.

It was situated much like any other medical facility he'd ever been in, but with much more high-tech equipment than one would be accustomed to. Three-dimensional scales of various parts of the human skeleton lined the sterile space, all connected to some type of digital imagery or interactive exhibit showcasing injections and cartilage regeneration. Bruce took it all in with a moment of irresolution. _Here was the Batman_, he thought_. He's only got one foot in the door, and already he's mentally stripping himself of his trademark strength and poise, revealing everything that makes him even the smallest bit human._

He perched on the edge of a chair in the center of the room and absentmindedly watched a rainbow of fish swim back and forth in a tank on the opposite wall. Water in the tank burbled just like the jumbled mess in his mind, and everything in the room seemed bright and warm and too much when he was slowly beginning to feel quite cold in comparison.

"Mr. Pennyworth?"

Bruce stood and turned around to see a middle-aged but distinguished-looking man in a lab coat enter the room, his dark, almond-shaped eyes setting off his salt-and-pepper hair and a broad, genuine smile gracing his features as he extended a hand.

"I'm Dr. Luciano," he explained, and then gestured to the plethora of exam tables and chairs positioned around them. "Please, have a seat."

He regarded this new patient of his for a long, discerning moment.

"I've taken a look at the chart history you've provided, and I must say that it's quite…complex."

"You could say that."

"You failed to include any background on the exact cause of your injuries," he said, incredulous.

Bruce shrugged. "I didn't think the nature of how they occurred was nearly as significant as how we're going to treat them."

The doctor sighed and glanced down at the semi-completed forms, rehashing Bruce's list back at him. "Ligament damage. Joint damage. Organ damage. Spine damage. Brain damage." He paused and looked up to meet Bruce's gaze. "If I'm dealing with an operative or special circumstance here that could put my practice in jeopardy-"

"I'm not CIA," Bruce interrupted, the insinuation actually teasing a slight smile across his lips. "Nor FBI, nor an undercover agent or special ops of any type. I'm just a guy – a normal citizen – who wants to feel better and is willing to seek radical treatment and spend the funds that are necessary in order to achieve that goal. As a matter of fact, I'm willing to spend double the funds to ensure doctor-patient confidentiality."

The doctor nodded, understanding now playing across his features. "How did you hear about our interdisciplinary study?"

"Research."

"And have you ever heard the expression that the cure is worse than the disease?"

Bruce rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his face into his hands. He pulled his fingers through his hair. "What are you getting at?"

"Mr. Pennyworth, in order for me to get a thorough understanding of the extent of your injuries, I'm going to need to ask you to spend the next several hours inside of an MRI chamber. I'll also order a CT scan, full blood work, a muscle and deep tissue analysis, and a full thoracic examination. Depending upon the outcomes of your testing, you may be asked to return for repeated and lengthy sessions of injections, sessions with MedX technology, and clinical studies on musculoskeletal conditions."

"And what if the tests tell you something different?"

"The MRI findings only reveal so much. Regardless of what the machines tell us, the symptoms that a person has is the most important factor. Symptoms have to correlate with the findings. We'll be looking to rule out pinched nerves and autoimmune disease. We're looking for degeneration. Symptoms that until now, modern medicine has been unable to correct."

Bruce swallowed. His fists clenched, and then he took a slow, deep breath. "If you're looking for degeneration, you won't have to look far. How soon can we start the MRI?"

"As soon as we get a basic physical examination out of the way and I can get a radiologist up here. In the meantime, Mr. Pennyworth, have you recently suffered from any of the following – dizziness, fatigue, headaches, tremors, nausea, muscle spasms, neck pain or sensitivity to light and/or sound?"

"How recently is recently? A week? Two?"

"Within the past month."

Bruce dropped his head. "All of the above, then," he answered quietly. It was almost as if he could feel his dignity seeping out of him.

The doctor merely raised his eyebrows and wrote something on a notepad, then handed Bruce one of those flimsy white-and-blue hospital gowns that must have the same horrible design in every hospital in every corner of the world. He nodded toward a small privacy curtain that hung on the other side of the room.

"Do you become claustrophobic in confined spaces?" the doctor called after him as he got up, and Bruce couldn't help the bitter, ironic laugh that escaped his lips. A medical imaging chamber may not have been a place where he preferred to spend his time, but it was far from the hell on earth he'd been subjected to earlier in the year.

He did realize, as he changed, that he had become somewhat self-conscious about the bruised, battered and scarred-over state of his body. It was different when it was just him and Selina. She touched him, kissed him, explored every inch of his skin in a way that made him feel powerful and ageless. She was soft caresses over the bruises, kneading fingers over the scars, warm lips trailing over the dips and crevices that nobody else would understand. Bruce knew that doctors and technicians would have questions – _How does one man suffer so much unexplainable damage? Why would someone in pain not take medication made available to them? –_ that would cause doubt and anxiety to pick away at him.

Soon after – as he came face-to-face with the bright lights of the inside of the tube and listened to the disorienting sequences of harsh, mechanical sounds while trying to remain completely still – he'd tried to tell himself that he'd been presented with – and had _overcome _– more formidable mental and physical challenges. In situations of extreme danger – danger where severe trauma had stripped him of his will – it had been dehumanizing. Terrifying. He'd had to tell himself then that mindfulness also meant equal-opportunity awareness. Now, as he lay inside of the MRI machine, he knew that some of the core principles of mindfulness could help him turn this potentially distressing experience into an opportunity to analyze and let go of stories of his past.

* * *

_The dark house enveloped him as he stood by the large windows that framed the foyer near the main door. Rain came down outside, pounding, endless. For the hollow, empty ache he felt inside, he knew that another family had it worse right now. Had it worse because of him. Because he'd set the chain of events in motion. Because he'd made a wrong decision. Because he'd been powerless to stop it._

_He watched through the window as Alfred made his way up the long climb of stairs from where he'd parked his car, the merciless weather leaving him drenched and shivering by the time he stepped inside. He looked at Bruce with an almost hollow gaze as the heavy door closed behind him, the sound echoing through the practically bare chambers of the lower level of Wayne Manor. With his waterlogged dark trench coat, slacks and dark shoes dripping puddles around him, he looked several years older and like he weighed an extra twenty pounds. _

_Bruce watched him silently hang his belongings to dry, wanting to ask questions but fear biting back like bile in his throat as dozens of old memories echoed in his head like a repeating cassette player. Mrs. Dodson's laugh as she chased he and Rachel across the lush lawns in the summertime. Her warm voice telling stories as she served them milk and cookies at the formal dining table. The familiar and respectful tone she used when she held conversations with Thomas and Martha Wayne. She'd had a quality about her that made her very maternal, likeable. She'd treated Bruce like one of her own children. He'd remembered the agony, too, that pinched her face when he'd talked to her about Rachel's death. A watery film had spread across her eyes as she looked at him, something dark and defeated replacing the light that used to shine there. _

_Bruce's trepidation had beat like a drum behind his skull as he watched Alfred turn on a soft lamp in the main living area, his wrinkled hands pouring a glass of scotch before he downed it neatly. The old man looked a lost as Bruce had felt in the nearly eighteen months since Rachel's death, and in the seventeen months he'd kept himself holed up inside of the walls of this prison-like home. Seventeen months his soul had spent splitting apart at the seams. _

_A tug of war began as he regarded Alfred from his position in the door frame of the room. Stay or walk away. Walk away or stay. He wanted to retreat to his bedroom, to a dark corner where he could collapse away from the prying eyes of his butler. Alfred's gaze held him captive, though, and the conflict nauseated him. He shuffled forward and swallowed. _

"_Several people at the service asked about you," Alfred finally said, his voice even. _

_Guilt churned in Bruce's stomach. "And what did you tell them?"_

_A long pause followed. Alfred couldn't think of a single time in the past few years where he'd looked at Bruce with so much piteousness in his gaze. Of the two of them, it was always Alfred who fed Bruce the you-can-do-it, there's-still-life-out-there, positive crap he believed would sink in sometime in the near future. But now the longer Bruce languished, the more he doubted it would happen soon. Not if things continued the way they'd been going. _

"_I told them that you're out of the country."_

"_You shouldn't have." His voice was dark, loathing. Not angry at Alfred. Angry at himself._

"_And what would you prefer that I'd told them, Master Wayne? That you feel that Mrs. Dodson's death is your fault?"_

"_It IS my fault, Alfred. She took her own life because she lived every day with the image of lowering her daughter's casket six feet into the ground with barely enough remains inside to fill half of it. Had to live with the knowledge that the death of the only child she'd ever had was entirely preventable. She never would have had to endure that torment if Rachel were still here-"_

"_But Rachel's NOT here, Master Wayne. And neither of those deaths was your fault. Rachel's death was the work of a madman. Her mother's death was the result of grief. All-consuming. Like I see it consuming YOU, day after day."_

_More silence stretched between them for a small eternity, stretching into infinitesimal lines that never ended. The grandfather clock in the hall gonged to spite Bruce's observation. The tick-tick-tick of the second hand seemed thunderous, despite the large space between himself and the offending object._

"_Do you think I like feeling this way, Alfred?" His voice was flat, defeated. _

"_I think, Master Wayne," Alfred said as he leaned forward, "that consciously or subconsciously, you're reaching for an equilibrium right now. Someone took away your control once, and you lost someone as a result. You can't reset the balance of power anywhere but in your subconscious, so you just stay in here, day after day, because I'm the only person you can interact with in a way that sets you up as a superior in the situation. But Master Wayne, I suspect that there's a healthier outlet for all of these feelings that you have."_

_Bruce rubbed his face and frowned. "I don't need to see a damn psychologist, Alfred."_

_Alfred's wounded expression lashed Bruce like a knife, and his shoulders slumped as he turned and walked back up the cold, dark staircase. And his butler just watched him go, the melancholic expression he'd worn for months now etched on his face almost as permanently as the scars on the face of the man who had put them all into this situation in the first place._

* * *

Bruce didn't wake up as much as he became self-aware. He was still stuck in this tube – in this strange, snarly place of colors and sounds and over-stimulation – and the doctor outside who was monitoring him was saying something into the speaker that sounded foreign and tinny to his ears.

"Mr. Pennyworth, it's ok that you fall asleep, but we'll have to wake you if you can't stay still for the duration of the session."

Bruce blinked as he lay there, almost naked on a narrow bed inside of a narrow, strange place that confined him from head to toe. He had drifted off – for how long, he wasn't sure – having grown tired of focusing his burning eyes on the glare of the lights inside of the tube that gave everything an odd, wavering halo. He stared through the small window in the machine at a man he didn't know, who was making notes on a chart that he couldn't see.

It took him a few moments to register that Alfred wasn't there, that the all-consuming grief wasn't hovering, that his limbs only felt shaky and weak because he'd been lying still for an hour, not because he'd spent months sitting in Wayne Manor and staring wordlessly into space.

He was in Florence, he remembered, then. In a hospital. Trying to finally pick up the pieces of his life. Selina was waiting for him. She'd come when he was through here. The thought made him more optimistic, and something deep inside of him debated, analyzed, considered telling her everything. All of his deep, dark secrets and tormented details. Because maybe she'd look at him with that big, red, stupidly beautiful smile and assure him that everything would be just fine. And maybe he would tell her that he cared for her. Cared for her so much, that maybe he loved her. And he would kiss her – kiss her senseless – because she seemed to like being kissed by him.

A sliver of fear cut through him as he considered the alternate possibility. That she would hear his confessions, and her own fears would cause her to cut and run. That he'd say those words, and she would look at him with disappointment bleeding into her dark eyes, because Selina Kyle wasn't the type of woman who wanted to settle into some routine of normalcy with a man who was putting the shattered pieces of his life back together and using her as the glue to hold it.

He had the mental fortitude, right now, to shove those doubts away. If she was going to run, she would have run by now. Right? He tried to take stock of the situation. The light and the heat inside of the chamber made it hard to think. For a while he lay there, listening and unfocused, the clanging of the machine droning in time with his own heartbeat that seemed to echo in his ears.

"Try to think of something calming, Mr. Pennyworth," he heard the tinny voice in the speaker box say, and he lay there centering on her, eyes becoming half-lidded again, relaxation bleeding back into him like he was a device running low on batteries.

* * *

"_Selina," Bruce said as he looked up. He sat in the dim light at the dining table across from the cabin's kitchen. It was the day after he'd given her back the pearls, and she was just coming back inside from a run, peeling off her layers as she walked across the room and stretched. He folded the laptop shut that he'd been reading on, and a sigh escaped his lips. _

_"What?" she asked, grinning. "Aren't you happy to see me?" She was down to just a thin black t-shirt and spandex shorts now, the warmth of the air inside hitting the chill of her skin causing her to shiver involuntarily._

_He cocked his head and looked at her, an amused grin gracing his handsome features. "I'm always happy to see you."_

_She sat across from him, swinging her legs up onto his lap as she pulled her boots off and discarded them on the floor. The cushion on the wooden chair squeaked. He reached across the table to brush her lower lip with his finger, relishing the soft rippled surface of her skin. _

_He peered at her as she shook her ponytail free and her hair tumbled down, loose and tangled with sweat from her run, and she wore no makeup. Her skin glowed anyway. The slightest of imperfections – battle scars - may have marred her face and neck, a small peppering of flaws, but they did nothing to detract, nothing to make her less beautiful. Need devoured him as he stared at her. _

_"I've wanted to do this all day," he said. He stood and moved to her side of the table, pulled her up gently by the arms, then kissed her and let his eyes close as the scent of her skin swept around him. She twisted backward, a small moan skipping from her lips. His shirt on her body rustled as he fiddled with the hem. She tasted him, and then she pulled away and laughed._

_"It hasn't been THAT many hours since we've done this," she replied._

_"What can I say?" he mumbled against her skin. "You're irresistible."_

_She splayed her palms against his chest, as if to postpone him, and pushed him backward. "Bed," she panted as she tangled with his shirt. "Now."_

_He shook his head as he lifted his arms and tore the shirt away. "No. Here."_

_Her smile curled up into a mischievous grin. "Here on the table? Bruce Wayne, you kinky little playboy…"_

_He shucked his shoes and socks, and she grappled with the drawstring on his pants, and then he was turning her around lifting her, placing her on the edge of the table as she kicked off her shorts and panties. _

_"Why is my shirt still on your body?" he growled._

_"Because you didn't take it off yet? The bigger dilemma would be that you're still wearing your pants."_

_Her hands curled over his waistband. Her knuckles dug into his skin. She rolled the material down his hips and paused. Her eyebrows shot up. "Commando?"_

_"Why would I care about my underwear in this place?"_

_She grinned. "Because I like to take it off of you?" He kissed her on the throat, and he delighted with the vibrations underneath her skin as she laughed. Her body rolled back in a wave as he yanked up his soft black shirt and peeled it from her body. _

"_No bra? You're a fine one to talk about lack of clothing."_

_He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked. Her fingers spider-walked across his naked back. _

_"Bruce," she moaned. Her knees imprisoned his hips as she opened for him. "Please."_

_"Are you wet already?"_

_"Make me," she replied. "Are you hard already?"_

_"Make me," he leered._

_He slithered out of his pants and pushed against her. Heat radiated against his groin. He kissed her as she slipped her hand between their bodies and touched him, stroked him base to tip. "Selina," he groaned, panting. A slave to the building pressure she wrought, he pressed against her hand. Friction built, and another groan tumbled out of him. "Stop," he managed._

_"Stop?"_

"_Hard,now," he mumbled, and then he captured her lips with his own. Arms shaking, he pushed her down, her back flat against the table as he gripped her under the knees and pulled her closer, reaching higher to her thighs and yanked her against his body with a growl. _

"_Wet, now," she managed, and he grunted his agreement as his pulsing erection nestled against her dripping center. She hooked her legs over his shoulders, and he buried himself inside of her in one deep thrust. _

_She propped herself on her elbows, the pain of the wood against her skin barely registering as she watched him pause with glassy, lust-drugged eyes. Watched him closed his eyes to keep from spilling as wet and slick and tight overwhelmed all other sensation. His breaths shivered, and her internal muscles clenched._

_"Fast or slow?" he asked, unmoving, torturous. A buzzing sensation pierced her brain. Move. God dammit, just move._

_She grimaced and her breasts heaved as she struggled for air. "Anything, Bruce. Fuck me. I don't care. Just please. freaking. MOVE."_

_"How about slow?" he teased. He pulled out and pushed in by inches, and he rumbled as tension locked his body and the sensation crawling through his abdomen became a constant ache. "I can do incredibly slow."_

_He pulled out and pushed in again, and she moaned. Her fingers twisted against his shoulder blades, her nails digging into his skin as she tried without success to move her hips against his. He had one large hand resting just below her navel, holding her down._

_She clawed his back and he stroked her insides once, twice, again. Slow. He let the rhythm pull them both toward mental frenzy. The ache in his groin became a torment. Move, she whined. Move, faster. He denied her as long as he could, delighting in the way his name rolled off of her tongue and in her soft breaths against his body. Every time he entered her, he never wanted to leave. He just wanted to draw this out, her warmth and her strength and everything about her lighting his nerve endings. _

_The table shook every time he speared her. Again and again and again, until she was practically limp and her legs were sliding down his shoulders. He paused and used sweaty hands to guide them around his waist, and then his couldn't hold back anymore. She locked her legs as he reached under her ass and pulled her roughly against him, Selina's moans and shrieks urging him on as his torso ground into hers desperately. _

_He watched as her abdominal muscles flexed with every tilt and rotation of her hips to accept his full length, the sight of him ramming home inside of her now too much sensory overload for him to handle. His lower body tightened like a screw and then snapped. The world split apart. He yelled as his body shuddered and shot a hot release inside of her, and he was lost to everything. He threw his head back as bright light flashed behind his eyes. _

_He barely registered her sitting all the way up, causing him to hit the deepest part of her as she bit roughly at the skin over his collarbone. His tremors and this new angle helped her as she slid against him frantically, looking for her own release that she finally found after jerking herself down against him in several successive motions. The last of his throbbing had hit her just right, and she dropped her legs limply and rested her head on his shoulder as she came, her hot breath and harsh string of language hissing against his ear as he gathered her against him. _

_Time seemed to slow as she stroked his back idly, mentally counting the fourteen moles on his back that she knew just by sense of touch. She looked over his shoulder and watched random snowflakes blow off the roof outside. Several minutes of hard sex, and they were blissed out, spent. How did that happen?_

"_One more room down, eleven more to go," she whispered. _

"_Mmmm," he rumbled in agreement. "We've got the whole world to conquer."_

* * *

"Mr. Pennyworth? Mr. Pennyworth, the scan is over now. We're going to slide you out of the machine now, ok?"

Bruce opened his eyes, and adrenaline helped push him through the haze and function despite the weariness he felt in his body. His hands gripped the railing as the bed underneath him moved forward, exposing him – feet first – back to the reality of the medical office.

"More tests, now?" he asked, his voice thick like cotton as Dr. Luciano and the radiologist helped him into a sitting position.

"We'll do a CT scan next, which should only take about fifteen minutes. Then I'll want to draw some blood and take a closer look at your back."

He sat rigid as the noises they made cluttered around him. Okay, so maybe another half hour at the most, he hoped, until he could call her to meet him again. That wasn't so bad. Then they could go back to the hotel, and he would tell her everything. Because at this moment, there were so many reasons _why _she should know, that he had to tell her even if the consequences meant sleeping alone that night. She deserved that much from him. And he trusted her enough now to think that maybe by the end of the night, he would be sleeping next to her, marveling over the lightness of his mind that just a day ago, he hadn't possessed.

He would inhale the soft scent of her hair and stroke her arm and wonder at the luck that she'd found him. Just a cripple holed up in his mansion, unknowing that he was about to have his heart stolen by a master thief.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: **I know it sounds redundant when I keep thanking you all profusely for all of the great feedback for each chapter, but I mean it. The feedback for the last chapter was really inspiring and was definitely such a great motivator! I'm traveling for work at the moment and had to put writing on hold some days while I work on presentations and such, but every bit of feedback I get makes me find time each day to kick myself into gear and keep cranking this story out.

On that note, I'm hoping that you all aren't throwing something at me by the end of this chapter, for continuing to explore the emotional mess that I've made of Bruce Wayne. I absolutely love exploring who I think Bruce is, deep down, and I promise future chapters won't be quite so heavy.

Also, a huge shout out to ireneselina, who continues to post the most wonderful Bruce/Selina photo sets on tumblr, that all relate back beautifully to the chapters for this story. I wish I were half as talented, to be able to give a visual element to this story, and I'm spoiled that she is willing to do so! :)

* * *

**Chapter 19**

The world shifted, the plane rumbled around her, and Selina was jarred out of her daydream by her body slightly rocking forward, the seat belt strung across her lap digging roughly into the skin at her hip. She continued gazing to her right, watching the powdered haze over Florence seemingly lift along with them, patches of burnt orange, light pinks and terra cotta getting smaller and smaller until they blended into the earth below.

She blinked several times as her mind tried to disperse thoughts. Thoughts that didn't come, because she honestly didn't know _what _to think. Both positive and negative energy swirled deep inside of her, clenching at her gut, around her heart, and also, it seemed, around her vocal cords. Bruce had been such a terribly blank slate since she'd met him back at the hospital – not talking to her about his appointment, not asking her about what she'd done without him in the meantime – that she was at a real loss as to what to say to him.

_It's bad news_, a voice in the back of her head whispered. She hated that voice, because it always sounded like her father's. She only ever heard his voice when pessimism dug at the corners of her soul. _It's bad news, or he would have told you something by now. _

"How long will the flight take?" she asked as the finally turned to Bruce, trying not to sound too anxious as she shoved her tumultuous thoughts away. She didn't want to look at him, but she couldn't _not_ look at him. She hated that he was so unreadable to her at the moment, but disliked even more that he seemed oblivious to his own current temperament.

"About ninety minutes," he replied over the rumble of the plane. He didn't take his eye off of the sky.

She shook her head as she continued to stare him down. For the second time in ninety-six hours, he was guiding them through the air with a fierce determination that was still unique to her. When other people did things with intent, it was clear but not overwhelming. When Bruce Wayne set about a task, you could literally see every cell in his body striving for completion. He was a "nothing-less-than-two-hundred-percent" type of guy, and this type of realization also made Selina even more frustrated with how vague he was being about everything else at the moment. When she really concentrated on his face, she knew that exhaustion wasn't an issue. Exhaustion could make the brain do illogical things, but Bruce was alert, clear-headed. He didn't look like a man who had been given bad medical news, either, but she figured that if he had gotten _good_ news, then his demeanor would have reflected that…given her _something_, _anything_ to go on.

She searched her mind for a more terrestrial explanation, but it felt like her own thought process was just running on empty, and she couldn't think of anything. Couldn't think of another casual conversational segue, like how going to the air field and getting their own plane out of storage didn't seem daunting this time, or how she partially understood the conversation that Bruce had had with one of the aviation attendants, because she was already beginning to pick up on commonly-used words in the language. She wanted to tell Bruce all of these things…and about how, instead of shopping, she'd walked around the Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence's most famous museum, for hours. About how she'd had to push down the impulses to simply _take _the things that she admired, but that she hadn't touched a thing, because she knew this time that her existence in Italy could be traced back to _him_, and she didn't want to put him through that shame or embarrassment. Didn't want to _taint_ the clean slate he'd provided her. It would mean admitting that Bruce Wayne had indeed changed her in some small way, and she truly wasn't ready to verbalize that to him. So she merely swallowed against the lump in her throat, unlatched her seat belt and gently swung one of her legs over to brush against his, hoping to illicit some kind of reaction.

"Selina…"

He had turned his head to her briefly, his eyebrows raised but his tone neither playful nor serious. It was just…_there_. And then he turned his face again, as if he were concentrating on his task even though the day was idyllic, weather-wise, and there was nary another plane in their flight radar at this altitude.

She had learned to read him well enough by now, however, to know when she had gotten his attention. His fingers gripped just a little more tightly at the controls, and his breaths shortened even though no sounds were attempting to escape his throat. It was all in the way he held his jaw and the way his pupils dilated when he looked at her. No matter the circumstance, he always looked at her like some treasured gift he was about to open, but already knew that what was inside the wrapping was something he had desperately been wanting for a long time.

"Why did you want to see the house today…now?" she asked as she pressured the tips of her toes against the side of his right shin.

"I told you. We've got the rest of the day free. Why not?"

"Maybe because yesterday, you seemed plenty content to wait."

"Changed my mind."

"Yes, I can _see _that. But I asked you **why**," she snapped, at her wit's end.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," he replied, but it drove her over the edge because he worked his trademark smirk into it, betraying the first and slightest hint of emotion she'd gotten from him in hours, and she knew that _he _knew it would drive her mad.

She couldn't take it anymore. She dropped her navigational headphones and scrabbled off of her seat, spinning on the ball of her feet and stalking toward the back of the plane. She pulled the curtain shut between the passenger and the pilot seating, ignoring the bewildered look on his face in the mirror as she did so. She didn't want to push him, but really felt at this point that _he _was the one being irrational, not her.

It shouldn't have surprised her that he followed behind her just a few moments later, a fiery look on his eyes as he yanked back the curtain and came lumbering up to the seat she had balled herself up in, inside of the very last row.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy?" she bit out as he hovered over her. "Do _I _need to go fly this plane?"

"It's on autopilot."

All of the things she was keeping pent up inside roiled. "Is that your answer for everything?"

Bruce couldn't speak for a long moment. So many thoughts had swirled inside of his head since they'd left the hospital, and where he had trouble communicating words to her that he _wanted _to say, he knew he was digging himself further into a hole instead of climbing out. He knew the house would be the perfect place. To talk, to open up to her. He just had to get her there, first. _Without _making an ass of himself.

He ran his fingers through his hair and took a short breath. Another. Blew it out slowly. Calmed down. Sometimes, dealing with the mood-swing symptoms of PCS was like being trussed to a roller coaster, and he despised every second of it. The only thing he knew for sure is that when he looked at Selina, at least he felt like he could apply the brakes with a little concentration.

He sat down in the seat beside her and rubbed her arm, offering her a weak smile. She rested her chin on top of a knee she had her arms wrapped around, seeming now to wait patiently for him to collect himself and his thoughts, and that was enough for him. That she was simply…there.

"I just…today has been a lot," he offered as he continued the rubbing and searched her eyes with his. "I don't think I was….aware…of some of the side effects I had been displaying all along, until they were pointed out to me. I just thought the house would be a good distraction for both of us. Somewhere we could…talk."

He was choosing his words carefully, and her eyebrows rose but she said nothing. She did, however, allow him to gently pull her to him. Into his arms. He wrapped her up and rocked her slowly, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other slid to the small of her back, all the while whispering soothing words against her ear that she didn't _need _to hear, but found herself strangely appreciating nonetheless. She felt herself exhale and relax against his skin, and she accepted his advances when he tipped her jaw to slide his lips over hers hesitantly, his open mouth hovering and seeking permission before fully allowing them to make contact. She angled her head to deepen the kiss for a moment, her tongue sliding slowly against his before she regretfully pulled away and nipped at his jaw.

"You need to get back up there and fly this plane. It's making me nervous."

He almost had the presence of mind to laugh. "Selina Kyle? Nervous? I never thought I'd see the day."

"Whatever," she replied, rolling her eyes. She pushed him away and bumped his hip with hers, edging him back toward the front of the plane. But not before he paused and turned back to her, winking at her in a last-ditch attempt to make her feel better. To make himself feel better.

"You think that's going to get you great makeup sex later, Wayne," she called after him as she tossed a travel pillow in his direction, "you're going to have to try a lot harder than that."

* * *

They had no sooner landed in Lecce and rented a car to drive into Otranto, that Selina could have sworn she began to feel her grandmother's presence. It wasn't just the harbor location - the magical seaside promenade with the waves of the Adriatic lapping gently at its white sand shores – or the castles and watchtowers that dotted the crescent-shaped sandstone coastline. There was something distinctly quaint about the town that she noticed even as they drove, and she could sense that this was a place where the ancient and the old merged seamlessly with the present, where modest people under cobbled rooftops kept the history of this fortress town omnipresent at all times.

Unlike Florence, the buildings here were mostly all white, save for the churches. It was, again, a compliment to their fresh start. The narrow, winding streets were filled with residents who wore colorful scarves and skirts that came from everywhere from India to Indonesia, but there was still something decidedly Mediterranean about their simple and peasant style. Selina let herself be lulled by the gracefully asymmetrical and Baroque architecture, by the Cajun-sounding music drifting from shops and restaurants they passed by, by the sights of performers occupying tiny amphitheaters they passed. The stark, whitewashed town shimmered like a mirage in the last vestiges of the afternoon sun, and Selina closed her eyes for just a second and let the moment of warmth pass over her.

It was just a fraction of a second, but it didn't go undetected by Bruce, even as he concentrated on guiding them through the mosaic streets where citizens watched tourists with benevolent interest. He actually felt himself take some comfort in the sight of Selina's expression, some of his own tension draining away in the blink of an eye.

The roads here were definitely like the roads in Florence, however – much more dirt-packed than they were asphalt or gravel – and dust flew from under the tires as he continued to follow the main drag through the town and then eventually north and away from it. Selina observed quietly as the town became a valley, as pebbled lawns gave way to green grass, and archeological sites gave way to well-kept properties and normal-looking neighborhoods. The houses started to become few and far between as they headed uphill, and she could hardly fathom how Bruce managed to guide them from point A to point B using nothing but handwritten directions.

Then the car rolled to a stop, and as she looked up, it was all Selina could do not to gape. The car's engine idled for a moment, and Bruce turned the key in the ignition. Silence gripped her as the engine cut off.

"I know it's not a hefty-sized landmark or anything," Bruce began, "but from the pictures it looked-"

"Would you just…don't talk," Selina interrupted as she held up a hand. Her eyes skimmed the perimeter of the property, taking in the white pietra and limestone molding that was offset by the abundance of bright lemon trees, the garden to her left that was dotted with wrought-iron tables and chairs painted various shades of Tuscan blue and yellow, and the spiraling sidewalks that seemed to loop all the way around back.

She swallowed as a realization hit her.

The house.

It wasn't in her name, but he had done this for her.

Selina and Bruce's house in the heel of Italy's boot. Canosa di Puglia.

**Their **house.

She didn't know whether to cry, be mad, or get sick.

Bruce watched her carefully as she used a slightly shaky arm to push the handle of the door and exit the vehicle. Somehow, her legs carried her several feet up the curved sidewalk, to the foot of a long, sandy-colored staircase, leading to two stories of charming ancient farmhouse. A white, rustic-style railing wrapped around the elongated balcony on the second floor, providing a private outdoor retreat that was nearly hidden under a canopy of tree tops. Situated high enough on the hill to have an impressive view of the turquoise waters below, but far enough away to ensure privacy and a lack of neighbors, Selina could see from the outside architectural aspects alone that the house exuded plenty of character, charm and warmth.

All things she had always been missing in a home.

She could feel it again – that metaphorical razor's edge that she walked on, threatening to trip her, take her down. Her heart beat so hard inside of her rib cage that she thought it might actually throw the rest of her body into some kind of convoluted shock, and she tried to regulate it by doing her normal routine of inhaling/exhaling. But that didn't work, either, causing her to really start to wonder what was wrong with her.

So stunned were her usually expert-sharp senses that she barely noticed Bruce had exited the car and walked up next to her.

"The outside is nice and everything, but we can check out the inside, if you want." He held out a key in front of her and dropped it into her palm, allowing her to take the lead and make the decision on how this would play out.

She never did bother to ask him how he'd acquired the key without her knowledge, and he wasn't at all surprised when she squared her shoulders and forged ahead, moving quite rapidly up the steps and also keeping several paces ahead of him. He could almost see the thoughts colliding like bumper cars in her mind as she first tried the key on the storm door, and when that didn't work, she pulled a pin from the hair behind her ears and used it to expertly pick the lock before he even reached the landing.

"Well, _that_ challenge wasn't a turn-on," she muttered as he finally caught up with her.

Bruce opened his mouth, but before he even had a chance to respond, she had unlocked the main door and plowed over the threshold.

"_Three…two…one," _Bruce counted down silently in his head.

And he was rewarded when, as he predicted, her breath caught in her throat and her eyes went wide at the sight she saw in front of her.

The first hints of dusk creeping up outside had darkened the gutted and remodeled interior of the house, providing just enough lack of light to illuminate the LED lanterns that were strung through the empty main foyer and what looked like the living area, and beyond. A small but warm fire kindled inside of the open hearth of a white stone fireplace in the center of the room, the _snap _and _pop_ of its embers the only sounds in the dim space aside from the _thud_ that had returned inside of Selina's chest.

"How…when…," she finally managed as she continued to follow the trail of lights, and he couldn't help the emotionally-bowled-over swell of pride that rose in his chest for that short moment. For once, he had done something right…maybe? The lanterns gave her face a soft glow as she explored and he followed, his hands casually in his pockets as they walked through what would be the dining room and kitchen, and then downstairs through the intended master bath and bedroom. He noticed her eyes were drawn to the arches and vaulted ceilings in each space, and a chuckle nearly escaped his lips as he realized that Lucius Fox had been right when he'd told Bruce that Selina was a stickler for details and noticed _everything_.

Right now, she was noticing the less-than-glamorous air mattress that was the only piece of "furniture" in the center of the room, and he stood back in the door frame and watched her turn to him with curiosity marring her beautiful features, one eyebrow raised as she stood with her hands on her hips.

"Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren't we?" she muttered, and he shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. She wondered, in that exact split second of time, if this constant mannerism was one that he had picked up from either one of his parents, and she verbalized this before she even knew what she was saying.

"A habit you inherited?" she questioned, and his hand froze in place as he picked up on her meaning and struggled for an answer.

He wished he could have remembered anything about his parents other than what he'd managed to save from the charred ruins of the original Manor house. Over the years, Fox and Alfred had managed to comb through every press archive that had ever documented a story or a photo about Thomas or Martha Wayne, and while grainy black-and-white 35mm press photos and article clippings were better than nothing at all, he'd had no memories to associate with those photos. He had been too young and too uninterested to attend society functions, preferring instead to spend time at home chasing…

Rachel.

Her name died in his eyes and Selina saw the instant shift in him. Saw him look longingly first at her, then around the room, his gaze never landing on one specific thing as his heart constricted and the lump in his throat expanded.

She watched him with baited breath as he became speechless and unreadable again, flinching as if he had been slapped. She wouldn't have noticed it at all – that flicker of pain across his face – except for the fact that he'd walked closer, and one of the lights that hung perilously close to his head had caught him at just the right moment, and everything else about his body language suggested that he'd been rubbed raw. Like he'd reached the critical mass of his suffering and someone had cracked open all of his vulnerable wounds.

Selina had perched herself carefully on the corner of the air mattress, and Bruce reached out and gently picked up the ends of her hair, watching it slide between his fingers and fall back softly on her shoulder. And she just kept eyeing him, both horrified and satisfied all at once, because he wasn't fine. She had been right. She'd been right along and—

A single, lone tear was sliding down the side of Bruce Wayne's left cheek.

She watched it with a morbid fascination as it continued its journey south, seeming to almost pause at the slightest dip between his cheekbone and the bottom of his jaw, before it slid down into his neck and unceremoniously bled into the collar of his shirt, where it left the slightest of marks.

He was handsome, and perfect, and totally wrecked.

"Selina, I…"

"What?"

He moved to sit down next to her, close but not intruding in her space. Not letting her intrude in his. Then he blew out a breath and put the big ugly clot of his weariness out there on the table.

"I don't want to watch her die anymore."

"Her?"

"Rachel. Before these eight years. She was taken, and…I couldn't save her." He stared off into space. "I couldn't…I couldn't save either one of them. And she had wanted to be with someone else, you know? Because he already _had _saved her. I was blind to it…until recently."

He paused to take a choppy breath and swipe his hands at his forehead, and now she didn't feel happy about watching him fall apart. Only horrible.

"Bruce…"

"No. No." He shook his head. "Let me finish.

"Ok," she said, almost hoarsely, sounding so final that she doubted she would misinterpret his meanings this time. She hoped she wouldn't.

He took a shaky breath and turned to her, his gaze ripe full of contrition. He didn't know where to start.

"Rachel and I…grew up together. Her mother worked for my family. And my parents treated them like family. They were with us for all of the big occasions…holidays, birthdays. Not as staff, but because they were supposed to be there."

He felt it important to make that clear up front – that there were no employer/employee lines where his parents were concerned. He was taught to treat everyone equally regardless of their position in society.

Understanding sparked in Selina's eyes, and she nodded, urging him to continue.

"After my parents' death, Alfred was the only staff member who stayed at the house. Nobody else could handle it. This…quietness…that just haunted every room. I didn't see much of Rachel again until we were both teenagers and in the same school. By then I was carrying around so much unresolved anger, that nothing else was really important to me. Rachel was the good girl, you know? She knew what she wanted from her life and her career. She really concentrated on getting into law school, whereas I just…existed. When I came back for the early parole hearing of the man who murdered my parents, Rachel was already working in the Assistant DA's office and made it clear to me that she was dedicating her career to eliminating crime in Gotham. I left again…seven years I was gone, and when I returned it was with a plan in mind of how I was going to help my city. When I indirectly revealed to her that I had taken up the mantle of the Batman, she was very much unwilling to compromise her morals. But once upon a time, wearing that cape and cowl made me feel invincible…it was a rush. The more criminals that reared their heads in Gotham, the more I felt like I could get into their minds and anticipate their next moves. And it was never ego that motivated me. It was just…that need to _avenge_."

He paused briefly, but she was still with him, so he kept going. The words were coming in a rush now, almost like he couldn't stop them.

"In those early days as Batman I was…I was _good_. With Alfred and Fox's help, we were always one step ahead of the police. We had a knack for working together to figure out motive and put together the pieces of an impossible puzzle. I could literally see the connections where no one else could, and I kept at it when though there were times when I knew that I was tarnishing my family's name. Alfred saw the signs. He warned me. But I just…."

He stopped as Selina hesitantly reached to him, breaching his personal barrier, taking his hand in hers. And he let her, hoping for some kind of closure to the guilt and shame that threatened to make him sick to his stomach. He took another breath, a shiver wracking his body that she could feel where their skin connected.

"…I didn't listen," he finally finished. "Maybe it was a bit of arrogance. Always finding a way to justify my actions every time another criminal was brought to justice. But then along came the kind of criminal mind that even I couldn't begin to understand. Someone who had no rules and no clear rhyme or reason for his behavior. And I thought…I thought if I pushed him, I could get him to make a mistake. Slip up."

Selina felt like she had been holding her breath this whole time. She had heard bits and pieces about this man – the one who Bruce couldn't even bear to mention by name or designation – but didn't have enough background to know how deeply Bruce had been involved. She could see his pain, and suddenly realized how hard this was for him. To open up to her out of necessity, as some form of healing. She had expected his dam to break over time, but not like this. Her heart was breaking for him.

"But that's not what happened," she interjected quietly, and he pulled from her grip and stood, needing some distance. He began to pace back and forth in front of her, almost like a caged animal, his hands curling at his neck as though he could literally hold himself together.

He cleared his throat, which felt thick and swollen. "No, it's not. I pushed him, but he didn't slip up. He set his sights on me, and everyone close to me. Rachel was involved with Harvey Dent by this time, but this monster went after her, anyway. He tied them both to gasoline drums and phone bombs, gave us the wrong addresses…."

He trailed off, his eyes somewhere distant, almost like he wasn't even there. And finally Selina had seen enough. She stood and walked up to him, circling him when he crossed his arms defensively and seemingly turned his back to her.

_It's a good thing I'm not easily deterred, Wayne," _she thought as she grimaced and mimicked his direction.

"Bruce, look at me."

When he didn't comply, she reached one hand out and captured his jaw with the tip of her fingers, forcing his dark eyes to meet hers head on. He swallowed. There was no sign of pity there, or anger, or fear. He saw acceptance in those wide depths, however, and that's what scared him even more. He swallowed and opened his mouth to continue, but she immediately silenced him.

"I think you should stop now," she said, more forcefully.

He wanted to agree – to tell her that it was way past time. But he had opened Pandora's Box, and he'd be damned if he didn't get out the reason why he needed to tell her all of this. So he reached out again, to that damn silky hair he loved so much, slowly tucking a strand of the dark locks behind her ear. His fingers continued their path, trailing along her jaw, making their way down to her chin until he mimicked the stance she'd had on him just a moment ago.

"Selina, I can't. I need to make you understand."

His voice was foreign to him. It didn't even sound like his own. And the stark intensity of his gaze threatened to swallow her whole. God, he was so close. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to break the connection that they had. To ignore the pull and the inevitable things he was going to say next.

He saw her close her eyes off from him, and for a moment he continued to feel guilty, as if he were forcing the situation. But when he stilled and she reopened them, that look had evaporated. Instead he saw expectancy. It gave him courage. It gave him…

He dropped his forehead to hers and framed her entire face with his hands.

"Selina, I wish I had words to express to you all of the amazing ways that knowing you has changed my life. It's like I'd stopped breathing for a long time and then there you were…breathing for me. All of the oxygen I'd ever need." He pressed a soft and shaky kiss to her left cheek, and then to her right. "I'm not going to say more than that, because what I feel for you scares the hell out of me. But I'm choosing to stay, Selina. I. choose. to. stay."

I choose to stay.

Those four words possibly meant more, coming from him, than three other words might have.

No man had ever chosen Selina Kyle. Sure, they'd wanted her. Used her, the way she used them. But they'd never known her, deep down. They hadn't cared to. And had they known her – known her the way that Bruce Wayne did – they certainly wouldn't _choose _to stay.

She was still that same stray cat. You could boot her back out the door when or if you wanted, and she would continue along, looking for another home.

Perhaps now she had found it.

She senses him waiting for her reaction, and his body starts to tremble again. So she moves to do for him what he did for her earlier in the day. She throws her arms around him and rocks back and forth. She feels him calming, settling into it, and his grip tightens around her instantly.

She doesn't know how to use her words the way he did. Doesn't trust the yearning, unfamiliar feeling in her chest. But she knows that she wants to wake up with him in this very bedroom, tomorrow or maybe a week from now, or maybe months from now.

Her breaths tighten as they are both crushing each other with their arms now. They are both grieving, in different ways. Bruce, the loss of years of his life. Selina, the loss of her heart to this man, even if she doesn't know it yet. He feels it in her, and that's enough for now. And neither one remembers who kisses who first. They just know that their lips are connected, the breaths and efforts put into it sad and tired, but also comforting and hopeful.

She pulls back with a sigh and runs her hands all the way down his arms, lacing her fingers through his again as she settles her head against his chest, swaying them gently to nonexistent music.

"I believe I owe you a finished dance, Mr. Wayne," she breathes against his neck, and finally, _finally_, he's looking down at her with just the slightest glint of confidence creeping back into his gaze.

"Pavane pour une infante défunte?" he asks, and she's touched that he remembered.

"That song doesn't seem so long ago."

_No, it doesn't_, he wants to say. Where they were then, versus where they were now, seemed like one long day. Minutes just evaporated when he was around her. The concept of _time_ seemed both overrated and underrated. She made it stop for him, and she made him want more of it. If he forced himself to accept the chain of events in his life – to fight this inertia – the warmth he felt from her in return would be rapturous. If he fought.

New Bruce Wayne, one. Old Bruce Wayne, zero.

He had slain bigger giants.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: **Thanks for hanging in with me while this took a little longer than usual to update. Once again, the dreaded 'real life' stuff has been getting in the way. But as some of you may know, my work travels took me to some of the cities where TDKR filmed, which was fun for me AND inspiring for my story. With that being said, I tried to make this chapter a little longer, since it may be another week until I can update again.

Also, let me just say that I continue to be amazed and grateful at the quality of the Bruce and Selina stories that have shown up on this board. So many of you are such talented writers, and I truly find enjoyment immersing myself in all of your interpretations of how Bruce and Selina evolve as people in the aftermath of Gotham. Cheers to all of you fanfiction creators, and of course, cheers to everyone who stops by to read!

* * *

**Chapter 20  
**  
She rested against the length of him, rubbing her palms over his t-shirt and against the ripples of his ribs. He was lying on his side, dipped forward against her, the palm of his left hand against the small of her back, his right arm tucked underneath him but his hand free to gently caress her neck. His thumb was making lazy, delicate strokes just below her chin as his gaze bore into hers, his dark eyes hooded with the reality of all they'd gone through on this day. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Because of her certainty, her confidence in him, and the strength she'd provided to him when he'd all but fallen apart. Everything about Selina Kyle warmed him from the inside out, and glowed ripe red like that delicious apple he'd seen her rescue for a hungry child.

Bruce had been waiting for that moment, somewhere in the last hour or so, when that sudden tension would clamp around her like a vice twisting tighter. When she'd realize that whatever they were doing was now something of a _relationship_. He'd been expecting darkness and anger that never came – anger that they were so in tune with each other. Anger because she wasn't good at the talking and because she always wanted to answer by route. It's what she did, and it would stop the discussion from going where she didn't want it to go. But that hot flare of irritation he'd come to anticipate from her remained unsparked. Her fingers continued to run over the bumps of those ribs, pausing, petting, almost as if she was trying to locate the ribs that he'd broken in his first fight in the sewers of Gotham. It was a crawling, soothing motion – just another reminder of how gentle she could be if she let herself invest in the moment.

For as close as they were, he was still far enough away for some perspective. He could still count those same freckles dotting her face that he had counted back on that first day he had fully woken at the cabin. Not that he didn't already know how many she had. He'd counted them dozens of times now. He knew it drove her crazy, when he studied her like that. He knew every tiny, barely-there line. He knew every slight blemish. Knew the way her lashes brushed low, sweeping against her cheeks when she became too heated under his intense gaze. He hovered closer, nose-to-nose, and breathed her in. He brushed his cheek against hers and then settled his face even lower, nipping at the soft flesh of her earlobe, his nose buried in her loose, dark strands of hair that smelled like the fresh air outside. Despite how tumultuous his pent-up memories and traitorous subconscious had made his day, she righted his ship and made everything else in the world go away. He wanted to whisper this to her, low and thrumming against her ear, but settled on sliding his arms behind her waist and pulling her close.

The cheap mattress sagged underneath their weight as they allowed the last flicker of the overhead lanterns to die out, ensconcing them in near darkness. The only sounds then were the quiet creaks of the old house, both of their breaths so quiet that their in-sync heartbeats proved to create a louder echo. Selina let herself become lulled by the sound, before angling her head back slightly to continue the conversation they had started.

"So your neck is where the bulk of the problems are? Not your head?"

So close were they, that she could literally _feel_ him grimace and nod.

"Well, my head could be in better shape," he theorized, "but the scans revealed that the nerves running from my neck and head, neck and shoulder blades, and the ligaments and tendons there are all damaged. He says that's the cause of some of the more present symptoms aside from the headaches. The shakiness…the loss of balance…even the strained vision. Dr. Luciano's approach is to repair the joints and nerves with pinpoint injections into selected areas of the neck and spine. I'll get twenty to thirty injections in my neck over the course of those first few visits, and then maybe only as little as five injections a week after that."

Selina made a face and could see herself reflected in his eyes. If the strong, steady rhythm of his _life_ wasn't thumping against her fingers as she continued her gentle touches, she may have been more alarmed. But he sounded strong and…sure...about this. Like a doctor had waved a magic wand and the rest was just mere medical formalities that he would have to endure.

"Is it going to be painful?"

"They said the first treatment will be, but that the shots are quick…precise. Then after that first one, it will feel like novocain. They'll also use hyperbaric oxygen therapy to help speed up the treatment to the actual post-concussive symptoms. Sixty minutes after each prolo session in a compressed oxygen chamber will supposedly have far more effect than any physical form of drug ever could."

She blinked and pushed back against the lump that threatened to form in her throat, refusing to allow herself to yield to the stinging thought that he was going to have to go through even _more_ pain, just to recover from the pain that he already had. What gnawed at her the most, however, weren't the unfamiliar pangs of worry and the even more foreign acceptance that it meant she was thinking with her heart instead of her head. No, what bothered her the most was that he rarely exhibited signs or symptoms of pain to her. Which meant that when the pain hit, he felt it, dealt with it in private. But given his earlier admissions, there was a lot he had been dealing with in private.

"When can they start?" she asked in a soft voice.

"A few days. When I tell them I'm ready."

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him. "Already got the doctors jumping when you say how high, huh? You _sure_ they don't know who you are?"

"Relax, Selina," he breathed as he dropped his forehead back to hers, succumbing to the gentle pressure of the way her nimble fingers massaged the back of his scalp. "Our secrets are safe here. I think their staff is just eager to use my body as a guinea pig for their research."

"Should I be jealous? I thought _I_ was the only one allowed to use your body for research," she said with a mock indignant huff, and then took his lower lip into between her teeth, sucking at it soothingly.

He loved the way her breath caught when she kissed him. It was something that he had noticed since the very first time that her lips had ever met his. There was always a slight pause in her actions and in the way that air pushed and pulled from her mouth. Like she was telling him things without saying a word. Her body molded to his, too, in the space between one breath – one heartbeat – and the next.

"That's a _whole_ different kind of research," he murmured when they finally pulled away.

It was all she could do to roll her eyes and shake her head, laughing lightly against him as she brought her fingers down to trail over his shoulders, down his arms and to lightly lock around his wrist. Again, she let herself become soothed by the rapid _thump thump thump_ she felt there, his four words from earlier playing over and over in her mind like a CD that wouldn't stop skipping. She pressed her cheek to the soft cotton of his shirt and reminded herself that if he was here, choosing to stay, then the least she could do was to be his cheerleader. Even if Selina Kyle had never lifted a pom-pom – metaphorically or physically – in her life.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

He lifted his arm and brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing the inside of her palm. "If you want to," he said, trying to keep affection from lacing his words, although he was sure he'd failed. "It's up to you, Selina. I know hospitals aren't your…thing."

"They're not yours either, Wayne."

"Mmmm…no," he agreed, and his grip on her hand tightened, reassuring. "But it _is _necessary."

She glanced at the remnants of the day through the window behind his head, on the far side of the room, and then shifted to lie on her back, resting both of their hands over her stomach.

"So how hopeful are you, on a scale of one to ten, that you're going to feel a lot better in a few short weeks from now?"

"Hmmm." He used his middle finger to trace the bump of a scar on the back of her hand, remnants of the self-defense she'd taught herself on the streets of Gotham. "Nine."

"Wow. Nine? Should I start making plans?"

"For the house?"

With so little light in the room, he couldn't make out her lips curling into a wide, lazy grin, but he could hear it. "You're not planning on continuing to play tourist with me?"

"Where do you…want to go?"

She rolled back onto her side and shrugged. "I don't know. Here. Back to Florence. Here again. Everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"We could bring a real camera this time." She reached up to twist her fingers through his hair. She was really becoming fond of the length he was letting grow in.

"I don't know whether to be pleased, or intimidated."

_Neither do I_, she thought as she curled herself into him again. _Who is this woman, and what has she done with Selina Kyle?_

It was like covering up years' worth of dirt with fresh snow.

Who knew that four words could change so much?

* * *

As it turned out, she wasn't there for that first appointment. Not for either one of their lack of trying.

Two days later, they'd ventured back to the hospital and she'd made it as far as that same waiting room on the fourth floor before they'd been told that the hospital had strict rules about their clinical studies. Family members were only allowed back into patient treatment areas in the case of extreme emergencies, and non-family members weren't granted access at all. Bruce had looked at her helplessly, while Selina eyed the good doctor and contemplated doing some major damage with her heels to his office's plush carpeting, and ripping the expensive artwork and fancy framed diplomas that had been coordinated by interior designers off of his walls.

She had raised both her voice and her hands in frustration, dropping them only when Bruce had grasped her gently around the arms, forcing her into an unusual submission as he talked her down with quiet reassurances. It would be fine, he'd said, and she could meet him back here just like last time. And they'd finally do that shopping that they'd talked about, if he felt up to it, because they had to fill a house now on top of adding to their wardrobes.

This was how she found herself working out her frustrations as she jogged with a steady gait along Florence's impressive 2.5km trails, her hair pulled back into a ponytail under Bruce's now steadily-used ball cap. Sunglasses completed the mask that she presented to the other locals and tourists alike who streamed by her on their own missions for exercise and fresh air. They hadn't come upon anyone yet on their travels who recognized them – although they were far more likely to recognize Bruce – but Selina wasn't willing to take any chances. The cool metal of the .22 revolver strapped along her thigh and under her jogging pants was a constant reminder that she may never be ready to fully let her guard down and trust anyone and everyone in public.

Selina's muscles strained with the exertion she was putting on them, a reminder that their daily _activities _in their hotel room likely didn't qualify as a full workout, even if she was often left feeling blissfully sore afterward. She mentally chastised herself for falling off of the wagon of her daily conditioning routine, vowing to make sure she stayed on track after today, and let herself soak in the spectacular scenery as she labored on. On a recommendation from one of the concierges at the hotel, she'd started out near the soaring baptistery of Ghiberti's Doors of Paradise, continued west through the Piazza della Signoria and past the famed Fountain of Neptune, eventually stopping for a breather along the colonnades of the Uffizi. Several of the male street vendors whose carts were camped along the slate-gray stone of the alley-style street shot her appreciative glances and called out compliments in their native tongue as Selina stretched her quads and calves.

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses as she moved on, thinking to herself that those men were damn lucky that Bruce wasn't here.

The Colonnade was home to many of Florence's most famed statues, including Michelangelo's David, and Selina bypassed the crowds of gawkers and paced herself through the Santa Croce, past its rows and crypts entombing some of the most illustrious artists in history. From here, the trail dipped down gracefully to the banks of the Arno, its calming waters seeming to call out to her as Selina crisscrossed back and forth over the bridges that spanned it, making perfect squares back to her starting point near the Capocaccia – the café that she and Bruce had eaten lunch at on their first full day in the city.

Sweating now and breathing hard, she trotted over to the café's patio wall that faced the eastern side of the city, looking out with appreciation at Florence's eggshell-hued buildings and terra cotta roofs, bathed in a late-morning sun that gave everything the color of ripe peach. This was only the second major city in the world that Selina had ever been in, but she doubted that few were as magical and awe-inspiring. In their few short days in Florence, the atmosphere around the city had transcended for her from a cluster of buildings to a spirit, a presence, as much Renaissance shrine as city, as much _home_ as it was a temporary home.

Selina bent and stretched her left leg high up the length of the wall, holding the pose and drawing in a deep breath as she slowly brought the leg back down. She repeated this process several times as she contemplated her newfound appreciation for where Bruce had brought her. She doubted they would stay in Florence permanently, and by now she was sure that plenty of other countries and cities were out there waiting for her discovery. _Their _discovery. Home to her now was wherever Bruce Wayne was, which no longer made her want to pack her bags and run like hell, but still left her feeling at odds with herself.

The one thing Selina Kyle had surprisingly discovered about herself, since the day she had berated Bruce for even _suggesting _they travel to Italy, was that life – and the feelings that came with it – were a bulldozer. And powerful as she might feel on any given day, she was helpless to stop herself from being the pavement that was flattened beneath it. She was doing the opposite of what she once swore she would do. She was merely going with the flow of everyday life, dealing with what the cards dealt her, and damn if she wasn't actually enjoying herself in the process. It wasn't the crushing weight of domestication that she had feared it would be – at least not so far – but rather, it was separate parts relaxation, understanding, and communication. Sure, she and Bruce had their fair share of crumpling under the stressed pile of the weight of what they'd left behind, particularly a few days ago when he'd broken down at the house. But for the most part, they had enjoyed one another's light moods, relished them properly. Their actions were never about trying to placate each other, but rather, their conversations were often drawn out as they searched for meaningful ways to share things.

She winced as she continued her routine, kicking off of the wall a few times and then holding a backbend longer than necessary, until the strain sent a flush carpeting every inch of her skin and she was forced to stand back upright. Satisfied that her innate flexibility was now recovered, she started walking some short cool-down laps around the perimeter of the patio.

It was then that she saw him.

That white hair, round face and blue eyes that had sized her up and addressed her only once, but that single instance was enough to make an indelible impression on her. She had defied the only instruction he'd given, sure at the time that she'd never see him again, even more certain that she'd never care what someone like _him_ thought about someone like _her_. But back then, she hadn't cared what _anyone_ thought of her.

Or had she?

He was dressed smartly, a light blue jacket covering his shoulders and buttoned halfway up to cover the slate-gray shirt he wore underneath. He was leaving a tip at a table and exiting the restaurant's patio slowly, an invisible force seeming to weigh upon him as he moved. There was a particular sadness that shadowed his features beneath the glasses that perched upon the bridge of his nose, and Selina recognized that look well because it was the same one that Bruce still wore when he talked about his former butler and longtime confidant.

"So _that's_ who Bruce was looking for," Selina whispered to herself as realization dawned on her. That day when he'd paid for lunch and seemed so secretive, he had been staking out every inch of this place with a gaze of steel, his eyes drinking in the scenery greedily, like he was clutching at hope like a security blanket. When he hadn't found what he'd been looking for, his features had relaxed, but Selina had sensed that day that there was something brewing beneath the surface of Bruce Wayne's skin.

Turns out she'd been right.

_As usual_, she thought as she smirked to herself.

Now the question was, did Bruce know for sure that Alfred Pennyworth was in Florence?

She had to doubt that he did. Merely because she was sure that if he thought there was even the slightest of chances that they were both in the same city, he would have been combing every street and plaza, climbing every wall, leaving no stone unturned. And he would have driven Selina half-crazy in the process, until she either railed against him or forced a confession out of him about his mystery search.

_There's only one way to find out._

She fished her cell phone out of the athletic band she'd curled around her forearm, scrolled to the only other number she'd stored in the contacts aside from Bruce's, hit 'send', let it ring twice, and then quickly ended the call.

Relief washed over her when the phone vibrated with an incoming call about forty-five seconds later, and she kept pace about twenty yards behind Alfred as she answered in a hushed tone.

"You're quick on the draw."

"It's the middle of the night, Ms….Robinson. I _do _hope that you're not calling to report a…delicate…situation."

Fox had chosen his words carefully, and Selina wracked her brain for an appropriate response. She was sure that there was no chance of a trace back to her phone, since she'd followed his rules and had let him dial her back. _He_ had the ability to block traces, whereas, she and Bruce didn't have that luxury on the devices that they carried. Still, she was certainly sensitive to their circumstances.

"Our situation is as expected. I was calling to inquire as to if we should have been expecting a…_third party_ to join in our traveling circle. Someone very familiar and…trusted…by my traveling companion. Someone aside from yourself whom he holds in the highest regard?"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few moments, and all Selina could hear was Lucius clearing the remnants of sleep from his throat.

"It's my understanding that the party you speak of may be traveling internationally, but the destination or whereabouts of this person were unbeknownst to myself and also to the uh, _physician acquaintance_ he left behind."

"Acknowledged," Selina whispered as she crinkled her brow and slithered between pedestrians who nearly made her lose sight of her moving target.

"Is that all I can do for you?"

"For the time being."

"Very well, then. I'll expect that I'll receive word back from yourself or your companion, should your third party contact you?"

Selina nodded, forgetting momentarily that Fox couldn't see her. "One of us will be in touch."

The line went dead and she stared at the device for a second before gripping it tightly and continuing on her way. _Lucius and Bruce were both men of many words_, she thought with slight amusement as she picked up her pace.

Alfred had walked into a throng of vacationers who were swarming the Piazza Santa Maria Novella like the clouds hovering above it were going to start raining money, and Selina ignored the curious looks she got from bystanders as she started scaling low-lying walls and eight-foot flower beds in an effort not to lose track of him. Her goal now was to get closer, enough so that she could snap a relatively decent photo of him with the phone's camera, but without him becoming aware of her presence, of course.

She snickered to herself as she realized exactly where he was heading. The noble and elegant lines of the Grand Hotel Minerva jutted up in front of them like a fortress wall that had risen out of nowhere, the mixture of Gothic and Elizabethan architecture and yellowish-brown color of the stone reminding her instantly of Wayne Manor, and she wondered if, deep down, this wasn't the reason that the older man had chosen this place as his Florentian respite.

Her eyes shifted back and forth as she bounded up the walkway behind him, now probably only a good eight feet from his heels, and she quickly swiped the screen of the phone to unlock it and jabbed at the camera setting as she tried to figure out a way to either get in front of him or make him turn around.

Lucky for her, the clutter of many clearly American-looking tourists had her thinking quickly on her feet.

"Excuse me," she breathed as she approached one family who was clearly getting picture-happy at the hotel's grand front entrance. "Would you mind calling out for my dog, Alfred? I seem to have lost him in this crowd somewhere, and it would _so_ devastate me if I can't find him. He's just the _tiniest_ little thing."

It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes behind the cover of her dark glasses when the family all began calling out for Alfred, scattering every which way to search and accompanying their calls with kissy-noises as if they were cooing at an invisible baby. Sure enough, the head of Bruce's father figure whipped around just as he was about to cross the threshold of the property's main doors, and Selina shielded her face with her phone as she quickly pressed the button to get the image she needed.

_You've still got it, Kyle_, she thought as she moved to stay close to the family while continuing to snap away. To any other observer – Alfred included – they really _did_ look like a bunch of idiots who'd just lost their dog, and he merely paused and looked around in momentary confusion before shrugging his shoulders and turning again, completely oblivious to Selina's presence.

"You know, I think I see him, right over there," Selina gushed to the family as she started back toward the way she'd come. She tried to ignore their bewildered looks as they all craned their necks for a glimpse of her 'pet'. "Thank you so much for your help!" she exclaimed with forced cheerfulness and an over-exaggerated wave. Then, muttering under her breath as she walked way, "Typical Americans."

Now if everything went according to plan, she'd find out just how often Alfred Pennyworth frequented the Capocaccia café.

And with any luck, Bruce Wayne would find what he had clearly came to Italy looking for.

* * *

He was sitting in a chair near the main foyer when she arrived back at the hospital a few hours later, a wince creasing his features before he'd become alert to her presence, but his expression of pain fading in seconds as he drank in the sight of her.

The slightest bit of concern jabbed at her when she noticed how he clenched the sides of the piece of furniture he rested on, his knuckles turning an almost sickly white as he pushed up and eased himself in a somewhat-crooked standing position.

Selina easily fell into place with him, linking a supportive arm around his waist before she turned her head and greeted him with a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm going to have to have a talk with your miracle doctor. You should only look this exhausted after spending a few hours locked in a bedroom with me," she muttered as he grunted with the efforts of shuffling his feet toward the exit.

She'd have been alarmed if he hadn't paused in his footsteps to shoot her a mystified but amused look, but thankfully his quick wit seemed to be in perfect working order, even if the rest of him was coiled with stress from the top down.

"I don't recall anyone ever _locking _me in a bedroom with you, though I wouldn't exactly try to escape if they did," he shot back.

"You giving me permission to hold you captive?"

"Lock, stock and key."

"I'll be more than happy to remind you of that someday when these doctors appointment are a distant memory."

"I'm going to hold you to that," he swallowed as she got him settled into the passenger side of their car, which she'd deposited in the patient pick-up loading zone out front.

"Yeah? I hope that's not _all _you're going to hold against me."

Even through his haze of pain, he admired the way she cleanly navigated the still-unfamiliar streets of Florence. The car wasn't the flashy type she was used to, but he could tell she enjoyed herself while behind the wheel, nonetheless. He explained the procedures he'd endured for the past several hours as she guided them back to the hotel, and though Selina was no rookie herself to pain tolerance, she grimaced when he turned his head slightly to reveal the track marks of injection sites across the back of his neck.

"You're taking it easy for the rest of the day," she commanded as she swung the car back into _park_, and truth be told, he was too tired to object, even if he did feel the slightest bit guilty that he was easily stealing another half-day of sight-seeing from her.

He leaned on her as they hobbled inside and caught the lift to their floor, Selina wrapping her arms around his waist from behind when they finally made it to their room and he stopped to collapse his weight against a table just inside the door. She was careful about how she put pressure against his back, pulling away slightly to gently reach around and coax his shirt off of his shoulders. He dipped his head and didn't fight her, instead exhaling gratefully when she placed a kiss to the side of his neck before assessing his situation and gently guiding her fingertips in a light massage around the newly-formed, slightly-raised and pinkish welts on his skin.

"It's really not as bad as it looks," he explained as he relaxed into her touch. "And it won't be like this the next time."

She hadn't told him that when she couldn't sleep the night before, she'd spent a few hours reading up on the side effects of initial prolotherapy injections into the spine. He'd been passed out for a change, and she'd figured that she'd better get a better handle on what he'd be dealing with over the course of the next few weeks. Being _adaptable _was really taking on new meanings for her every day.

"I think I know something that will help." She allowed her hands to linger gently over his trapezius muscles, pushing rhythmically into layers of tissue and willing herself not to think that there was anything even remotely sexual to the soft sounds that escaped his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You trust me?"

He raised his head to look at her in the mirror that hung on the wall in front of them, his eyes tired but still glinting in recognition of the question she'd thrown at him. _Now where had she heard that before?_

"You know I do."

She held their gaze as she dropped a kiss onto his right shoulder, then dropped her hands to his waist to nudge him toward the table that occupied the front room. "Sit," she directed as she pulled out a chair for him.

Too exhausted to ask her why, he sat.

"Open up your legs."

He snorted lightly. "I don't think I have the energy for this type of physical therapy, Selina."

"You should be so lucky," she retorted as she swatted at his hair with fake annoyance. "In all seriousness, Wayne, pry those knees apart. Now."

He did as she commanded, a curious look on his face. "Better," she said. "Now, drop your arms between your knees. Don't touch anything. Just let your arms hang free." When he did, she moved to his side and rested her hand on his stomach, the warmth of her palm soaking into his skin, which twitched at her light touch. "Ok, now bend over my hand. Don't bend at the waist, but just ease forward until you feel pressure from my hand and have to stop."

Bruce closed his eyes and his breaths evened out as he pushed her hand forward with his stomach, his abdominal muscles abs tightening with the effort. She rubbed his back with her free hand and felt him slightly shaking.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," he said. "No, it's..." His features softened into something less depressing. "It's good. It feels good."

He repeated this motion with her guidance several more times. Each time, he was able to achieve a little more resistance, which allowed him to focus more on the pressure in his front rather than his back.

_Selina Kyle, you continue to amaze me_, he thought as he sat up on the fifth rep and looked at her expectantly.

"Okay," she said. "Now, we've got to get you onto your back."

"You know, I really _am_ starting to think you've got something else on your brain," he muttered.

"You have a dirty mind," she countered as she raised an eyebrow at him.

She assisted him with the several short steps he needed to get to the sofa, and as he resumed his sitting position, she held his shoulders and he allowed gravity to pull him backward, surrendering his weight again to her hands. When he lay almost flat, resting against her lap, he looked up at her, his eyes expressing a silent _thank you _that made her flinch reflexively.

Despite his clipped pain, her sudden movement wasn't lost on him. Just the slightest bit of something _unsure_ had flitted across her eyes, her unspoken way of whispering in the silence, and he rested his hands over hers to try to calm the few seconds of _restless_ that appeared every now and then.

"You're helping me more than you think, Selina," he said when she didn't speak.

A lump formed in her throat. "How?" She shook her head, willing away the image of a gate crashing down between them, leaving them standing on opposite sides.

He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, and then he relaxed against her, resting his hands at his sides. "Well, letting you have your way with me has to do _something_ to feed your ego a bit," he said, and she heard a spark despite the exhaustion that laced each syllable. She glanced down at him as his eyelids fluttered, and he made a show of watching her through his eyelashes. The corners of his mouth curled up with just the barest hints of a smile.

"You saying I've got a big head, Wayne?"

"Never."

"Good, because it'll never rival yours. Now raise your knees up." He did as she asked, and then she had him pulling his legs toward his chest with his arms tucked under his knees. Again, the idea was for the lower-body movements to distract from the pressure in his spine, and she rubbed his shoulders encouragingly as he tensed from the backlash at first, but then eventually morphed into pain-free movement.

After several rounds of reps that she counted out loud for him, she slid from beneath him gently and helped him roll to his right side.

"Okay," she said. "Now you're going to do the same thing, but on your side and while keeping your back totally flat against the back of the couch."

She maneuvered toward his waist and continued to assist him, holding his hip back when it tilted forward too much with his efforts. She stopped when his breaths hitched with sounds of discomfort. "Too much?" she asked. He nodded. "Keep your back flat and your hips still. Everything from the waist down should be moving, and everything from the waist up should be motionless."

"That's not what I'm used to hearing from you."

"Oh shut up," she deadpanned, though she couldn't contain the laughter creeping into her voice. "I'm trying to help you, here."

"And helping, you are," he mused, though his voice was tense and low until he eased and rested again.  
He wished that he had thought to talk to the doctors himself about these kinds of exercises, but truly, it was a miracle that he had actually followed through with this first appointment at all. He'd been psyching himself up so much over the past few days, that he'd almost talked himself out of it. The two things that had kept him going were his desires to finally feel like an unbroken person again, and the feeling that Selina deserved to spend time with someone who was as physically capable as she was.

Somewhere in the course of the fifth routine of exercises, beads of sweat began to drip down through his hair and over his temples. She stilled his movements with her hands on his torso, allowing him to lay flat again as he settled against the fabric and closed his eyes. He never moved as she walked to the bathroom and came back, wiping a dry cloth across his forehead. She counted his shallow breaths and saw the lines in his face relax, and she was almost sure that he had fallen asleep.

"Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"You want to stay here for a while?"

His eyelids fluttered. "At least while I'm slightly comfortable. Though I'd be more comfortable if you'd rejoin me."

She dropped the cloth to the floor and slid herself back under his head, massaging his temples lightly until she could literally feel the relief seemingly taking control of his body. She wondered if he would finally appear so unguarded, so _free_, once he finally saw Alfred.

"So this is at the top of your list for places to see in Florence this afternoon?" she whispered as she let her own head fall back and rest. The lack of sleep from the prior night was beginning to catch up to her, as well.

He was quiet for a long moment, but then he reached a hand up to squeeze one of hers that she rested lightly on his chest.

"Definitely," he said. "Thank you for helping me sort it all out."


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: **A million apologies for going so long between chapters! Things got crazy with work, travel and family for a bit, and honestly I also hit a lot of writer's block. I think maybe, subconsciously, I know I'll be wrapping this story up in the next chapter or 2, and I'm either antsy about how it's going to end, or I'm excited b/c then it gives me a chance to get to a bunch of one-shots that some of you have requested! Either way, I tried to add a few things to this chapter...seriousness, sexiness, and tad bits of closure here and there. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 21**

It was a good thing the doctors hadn't put Bruce Wayne on any _actual_ medication.

Not that he would have taken it, anyway. But who needed medication when they had someone like Selina looking after them?

There were so many things they'd said to each other lately, and yet so many things that still remained unspoken. And still, she was…she was _his_. Despite all of the doubts, fears, assumptions and sometimes almost silent fury she often let simmer just below the surface, she was also this amazingly strong woman who had allowed warmth to somehow slip around her heart and hold it for just a moment. For these blissful, perfect moments where he just let himself be, allowed himself to watch her with some type of foreign, growing sense of delight, and remind himself that she was _his_.

And that was the best drug in the world.

It was the first thought that crossed his mind as he began to awaken on the couch several hours later. His head, which had been propped into her lap when he'd fallen asleep, now rested against a pillow she had clearly placed between them as she'd adjusted her position to sort of curl _around_ him. He found her like this, almost spooning him in a protective cocoon, her upper half resting awkwardly against his, but facing the opposite direction. Despite her extreme lack of vanity, her hair was mussed in a way that he knew she would have found mortifying, and it was for this reason that he couldn't resist running his free hand through it and gently teasing it further until he coaxed her awake.

The skin around her eyes crinkled as she came to, and both her awkward, tangled position and the strain on her muscles from her long run earlier in the day seemed to jab at her from all angles as she shifted to pull herself into an upright sitting position. The furniture they occupied seemed to almost whine beneath them, and she stretched as Bruce wrapped his arms more securely around her.

It was these moments when Selina couldn't see, but still sensed the fear in him. Despite the fact that she was curled up against him, and he was running his hand over her back absently, his head resting just below her chin, making her feel warm and safe and…cared for. And she was letting him. Despite all of that, she still sensed that he expected her to finally decide that this isn't what she had signed up for, after all. That she was going to just up and go.

How was she supposed to reconcile that somewhere in her soul, her earlier sighting of Alfred Pennyworth had all but sealed the deal for her? When she looked at Bruce Wayne now, she didn't just see a man who used to be Batman. She didn't see a man with once-upon-a-time extraordinary wealth whose status had been downgraded to simply "man with a lot of money". She didn't see a man who had self-sacrificed time and again for ordinary people who would never know of, or appreciate, his immeasurably heroic actions. She didn't see a man who grieved for his parents or for a childhood friend who was a once-hopeful partner with whom he could share his life. Rather, she saw a lost boy morphed into a searching man – a man who sought to reunite with the person who had raised him, guided him, taught him and had ensured he'd thrive.

Despite Selina's initial internal outrage that Bruce hadn't simply explained to her that it was Alfred whom he'd come to Florence to search out, she could also understand his hesitancy. Just as he hadn't pressed her to reveal more about the memory of _her_ paternal father, she wouldn't press him to reveal more about the man who'd had the solemn task of replacing _his_. Though there was a maddening difference between a man who abused his daughter and a man who became a father by no choice of his own, Selina was recognizing more and more that memories were indeed a sacred ground that one should tread carefully on. And _this_ is what guaranteed her link to Bruce perhaps more than anything. He had learned his place with her, and she, with him. Together, they were creating new, better memories to override the bad ones. To fully turn that corner, however, Bruce Wayne needed Alfred Pennyworth in his life.

Bruce watched her for a few long moments, sensing her deep in thought, then quirked a sexy grin at her and kissed her on the lips. It wasn't passionate, needy, or full of want, but it was long and warm. A display of affection where she let him take his time, savoring the moment of their quiet embrace to relish in the closeness of him. It was difficult not to relax when they touched each other like this. Selina couldn't help but to still feel like she was having some sort of out-of-body experience when she let herself melt into him, like there was still an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, each whispering thoughts into her ear of how the future was going to play out. The conviction in her allowed her to push the imaginary sounds out of her mind as his lips glided gently along hers, until the reason that they'd been on this couch all afternoon caught up with her, and she hesitantly pulled back and framed his face with her hands.

Her thumbs trailed along the pressure points at his temple, dropping slowly behind his ears and back up again.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she regarded him carefully, looking for any signs of pain. "Is your neck any better? Your back? Shit, Bruce, I shouldn't have let you fall asleep on the couch-"

He silenced her with a finger over her mouth. "It's actually feeling a lot better. The nap helped, I think. So did the exercises you had me do. So, thank you."

He dropped his hand from her lips and stared at her as a slight blush crawled across her cheeks. Selina would never be any good at accepting compliments or thanks from him. Though as she lowered her eyes and he lifted her chin to meet his gaze head-on, it struck him all over again how much of herself she'd revealed to him since they'd first met. It wasn't that she'd changed. She'd just become more open. She'd also sacrificed for him, and had shown him her strength on so many levels.

"What?" she asked as she accepted his challenge not to look away, though she looked distinctly ruffled. He could have sworn she'd almost fidgeted self-consciously.

"Nothing," he replied with a slight shrug, but his satisfied grin told her otherwise.

"Bruce? What are you thinking?"

_Courageous, _he'd decided. _Yes, that was the right word. She was courageous, though he didn't dare express this out loud since she thought that even 'thank you' was too much._

"I'm thinking…that I want us to get out of here tonight. Get out of this stuffy hotel suite for a while. Show you parts of Florence you haven't seen."

"But you really should be taking it easy. You have another appointment tomorrow. Florence can wait. It will still be here after your treatment."

He shook his head and clasped her hands. "I feel fine. We haven't done a whole lot of…normal…things since our arrival. We should go out. See the city. Have a proper meal."

"You mean like a date? I think we're way past formalities, Mr. Wayne."

"I know by now that there's absolutely nothing formal about you, Ms. Kyle." He hovered his mouth mere centimeters above hers as he spoke, and he let his lips claim hers again for all-too-brief few seconds before he reached to smooth her hair back and then pushed himself up off of the couch. "And just to prove how much of a _non_-date this is, I'm going to take you to _finally _do that shopping that we've been talking about."

"Oh?" she quirked an eyebrow. "Running out of clothes, are we?"

He began walking down the hall toward the bedroom, talking to her over his shoulder as he went.

"I think the clothes we _both_ packed are far more appropriate for a winter back at home than a spring and summer abroad. Besides," he added enticingly, "Fox sent a message that there should be a package containing plastic money waiting for us at the desk downstairs."

At this, Selina's ears perked up.

"Maybe we can get some things for the house, too," she mused out loud, surprising them both.

Bruce stalled in his tracks and tapped his watch as he turned back to her. "I'm giving you an hour to get a shower and change. Ready? Go."

* * *

Selina had quickly showered and had – for the first time since Gotham – dabbed on a bit of makeup and put some real effort into her hair. The latter, she gathered at the nape of her neck and then twisted, working it in a graceful bun before securing it with a few pins and then pulling out long, stray pieces and curling them. The result was a sexy cascade of curls just behind her ears, which she actually found herself wondering if Bruce would like it and if it was _too_ much. Shrugging to herself and figuring that she had never cared before what anyone had thought of her looks, she moved to the large closet beside the bathroom door and chose a grey pair of slacks, a black satin halter top with a crisscross neckline, and a pair of three-inch , black crisscross leather sandals. She finished off the ensemble with the pearls that now belonged to her but still felt very much like Bruce's mother's – a feeling she got every time she put them on, as if wearing them cemented her connection to the Wayne family. But where in Canada, the pearls had felt heavy and perhaps even somewhat burdensome; today they felt like just the right thing and not part of a costume for some public masquerade.

When Selina walked out to where Bruce was waiting on the balcony a short time later, her breath caught as she realized once again how heart-stoppingly handsome he was. He had on a pair of black trousers that hugged his lean waist just right, an off-white collared shirt that he'd left the top few buttons undone to – as well as the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, accentuating his muscular forearms – black dress sandals, and his watch serving as his only accessory. His hair was wet and slicked back, complimenting the barely-there five o'clock stubble that swathed his face, and Selina felt her heart do a little flip-flop as she approached him.

"I know this isn't your _preferred_ method of dress, but you _do_ clean up well, Mr. Pennyworth," she breathed into his ear as she got closer, using his alias since they had no idea if anyone occupied the balconies adjacent to the hotel's other suites.

Bruce smiled and tucked one hand into hers, twirling her halfway around so he could appreciate the full view. "Well, this stuff I'm wearing isn't really my taste, but when in Florence…"

"Shall we?" she asked as she reached a hand on his arm to steady herself.

He nodded and pulled her toward the exit, figuring that whatever awaited him in the stores had to be _far _less painful than the treatment he'd endured earlier in the day.

* * *

In Florence, fashion is a type of art that is part of the city's cultural heritage. Bruce and Selina were soon finding out, a short time later, that only in Florence could you find stores and boutiques of the most important Florentine designers: Gucci, Prada, Coveri, Pucci, Cavalli, and more who represented Italian fashion in the world. The cream of the crop of these Florentine shopping lines dotted both sides of the elegant Via de'Tornabuoni, with an extension along Via della Vigna Nuova and other surrounding streets in the heart of the city. Many of the stores were ensconced in old palaces or modern minimalist boutiques, each with their own flair for old-world charm and modern glitz. And because RosaMaria Robinson and Thomas Pennyworth looked fairly _glitzy_ in their own right, shopkeepers were more than happy to bend over backward to help them.

The voices that flitted around Bruce's ears waned into a faint buzz as Selina plowed onward from store to store, and he was as much caught by the magnetic pull of her as he was being simply taken along for the ride of wherever this adventure led them and whatever it cost them. Selina hadn't yet found anything she truly liked enough to purchase, instead rolling her eyes and becoming seemingly more put off every time a sales associate rushed forward with an armful of recommended styles for the both of them. Surprisingly enough to Bruce, Selina didn't seem as opposed to adding a dash of color to her wardrobe as she was opposed to trying on items and maneuvering around stores that were log-jammed with tourists, gawkers and merchandisers.

Finally, they ended up at a quieter and more casual-looking store, the Maya boutique, at the northernmost end of Via Por Santa Maria. Away from the hustle and bustle of what was apparently the Mecca of Italian shopping locations, the Maya's black-and-white walls and décor beckoned Selina, even if the mixture of colorful and alternative, creative and post-modern designs that lined the racks contrasted greatly with the ambiance of the place.

At Bruce's request, the sales staff had left them mostly in peace, offering only to unlock the dressing rooms in the back should they find a use for them. Otherwise, Selina was free to browse the expansive showroom at her own leisure, and Bruce was free to try desperately not to get caught up in a snare of questions that he was sure every man who had ever been shopping with a woman was bound to fall victim to: _Does this make my hips look wide? Is this color flattering? Do you like this? Which do you prefer? _ Trap questions that every other man in his situation would be likely to have to skate around. But no, he didn't hear anything like that. Selina Kyle was a woman of her own mind, and though shopping in general also usually turned her into a scowling, mirthless, moody mess, she grabbed a few tops, sun dresses, skirts and sarongs – all in light hues that made her feel fresh and relaxed – and grabbed Bruce's hand as she made her way back into the fitting room.

"You really want me back here with you?" he asked as she shut and locked the door of the confined space with the quick flick of a finger.

Each stall was a box that accommodated several huge claw-foot mirrors and various hooks and benches. Heavy, plush burgundy curtains hung down from the ceilings, and along with the low lighting created the sensation that they were literally inside the chambers of a heart.

It took him all of about two seconds to locate the surveillance camera in the upper right corner of the room, and he smoothly reached into his pocket and disabled it by tapping the key fob he carried everywhere with him. The red, blinking light on the camera died out instantly, leaving him feeling slightly better that nobody would have extended footage of the two of them _or_ their conversation on tape, and also that nobody would see Selina Kyle stripped down except for him.

"Oh come on," Selina laughed as she hung up the garments she'd chosen to try on. "I'm saving you from the shark pool out there, Mr. Pennyworth. In case you hadn't noticed by the four sets of eyes boring holes into you from behind the counter, you're the catch of the day. Back here, we're both safe from those women giving me a reason to kick all of their asses."

"You need to put those claws away." Bruce laughed along with her, but he felt his pulse race and his temperature rise a bit as she pushed him down to sit in the only chair that occupied the center of the space, and she began disrobing to try her selections on.

He had been used to never seeing her in anything but black or dark colors, but the bright and bold choices she'd made accentuated her luminous skin and graceful features, serving to turn him on as she got into the spirit of things, modeling several pieces and turning her flexible body around in all sorts of ways. And because they hadn't been intimate in days – Selina wanting their first priority to be the strength he'd need for his medical treatments – Bruce had a feeling that he knew he was being tested when Selina bent over in front of him to show off a particularly low-cut top that did nothing to hide her ample cleavage. She hadn't verbally asked his opinion about anything she'd tried on, instead going by the intense look in his eyes as a measuring stick to whether she'd actually make the purchase or not. With this particular top, that distinctively dark color that she'd grown accustomed to made its appearance in his heated gaze, causing the back of her throat to go dry even as she smirked and teased him on the outside. She had no intention of letting Bruce see that their proposed dry spell was something that affected her at all. Lucky for her, he proved to know her as well as she knew herself.

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her hips and sat her down hard in his lap, and she gasped when she immediately felt his hardness pressing into her. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with fire?" he whispered in her ear. His voice was tight and controlled, but bordering on the edge of that growl that he knew would push her right over the edge.

She held her breath for a moment and he could hear her swallowing. "Maybe I like the fire…"

It reminded him of her voice on a day back in Gotham. When he'd taken in the sight of her for the first time after five long months in a literal hell. _Maybe I like it this way_, she'd said at the time. For all of the hardness around the edges of her words back then, her voice now was soft, teasing. A tone she had once used on hapless men to seduce them out of money. With Bruce, she used this tone in moments where the pleasure and sensations he was dragging out of her burned through her with a heat that threatened to consume her.

"Really?" He lightly trailed his fingers down the exposed flesh of her back, and she felt the heat of his lips press between her shoulder blades. Selina closed her eyes and expelled a shaky breath, biting back a soft moan when she felt Bruce's tongue join his lips in the kiss. He sucked on her skin for a long moment, satisfied when he raised a light reddish, purple mark, and then he moved her hair to the side to expose her neck, wasting no time placing his lips and tongue against her sensitive curves there. All she had to do was shudder once beneath his assault, and he placed his right arm around her and spun her until she was now facing him and he could claim her mouth in a slow, sensuous kiss that had her tilting her head to taste as much of him as she could, their tongues sparring erotically as Selina reached blindly and tossed the shirt she'd arrived in over top of the security camera.

"Already took care of that," Bruce mumbled into her mouth, and Selina let out a soft laugh that he swallowed whole. Then he was reaching up under the skirt she'd tried on, settled his large hands low on her hips and purposefully resting her center over the large bulge in his pants as he bucked up against her. Selina moaned softly at the immediate tension that threatened to snap her in half, and Bruce placed his left hand gently over her mouth as he used his right hand to continue guiding her motions. There was almost a desperation to Selina's actions as her instincts and need took over, and the small piece of her brain still capable of coherent thought couldn't get over the reaction that this man could pull from her body, even if it _had _been several days since they'd had sex. She continued rocking against him, her mouth falling open at the delicious pressure on her clit as he moved her back and forth over him, and she felt the tension in her building to the point of no return.

"Can't…mess up…this skirt," she breathed into his hand as feelings of lightheadedness began to overtake her. In response, Bruce shoved her down against his erection almost violently while he raised his hips off the chair, then he quickly moved her off of him, held the fabric of the skirt up, and used his skillful fingers to quickly bring her to climax. As her whole body began to shudder, he reached to hold her upright with shaky arms.

Selina stood stark still for a long moment as she came down from her high, then collapsed back into Bruce's lap unceremoniously, her heavy-lidded eyed still hazed over from the pleasure. He tightened his grip around her again as she rested her head on his shoulder, still breathing heavily, and then she pulled back and gave him probably the softest smile he'd seen on her yet.

"I don't think I've done that since high school," she mumbled, embarrassed.

In response, he moved to cup her hands in his face again, rubbing his thumbs on her cheeks as he took in her swollen lips and flushed skin. "Consider that my token of appreciation for how you've taken such good care of me."

Selina smirked knowingly as she glanced down at the tent of his pants. "You're not playing fair, Mr. Pennyworth. If you'd let me _take care_ of you properly, you wouldn't be having such a _hard_ time right now."

"Then consider this your thanks until I'm better repaid," Bruce replied huskily as he regretfully lifted her from his lap, saving himself further from the bolts of desire she continued to send coursing through his overheated blood.

She would have laughed at his predicament if she wasn't standing on shaky legs herself, but instead she eyed the dressing room door and then shot him an amused glance as she finally allowed herself to become aware again of their surroundings. "So Thomas Pennyworth has a bit of an uninhibited side, huh? You sure you're okay with half the staff out there knowing just how appropriately you _thanked_ me?"

Bruce rubbed his jaw and cocked her a self-assured grin. "Well I don't anticipate we'll hear any complaints or have the authorities called on us, considering I told them when we walked in to package up every item that you so much as laid an eye on."

Selina snorted and shot him a withering look. "You _didn't_."

"I did."

"You're a fool with your money."

"Says the woman who's going to be wearing that skirt out of the store."

* * *

An hour later, they had dropped their many bags back off in their car and were wandering the streets of Florence hand-in-hand as the sun began dropping low into the horizon with a dramatic flourish of color. They both paused to watch it, seemingly mesmerized not just by the sunset, but by the freedom that they had to so openly observe it, together, in public but away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world that always seemed to watch them with a sadistic smile, waiting for them to both look up so it could plunge its bitter knives into their backs again.

There were no bullets whizzing around them, no chaos and panic in the streets, no military vehicles crushing everything in their paths. No death. No destruction. Just floodlit monuments magically illuminating narrow, medieval streets and beautiful squares that had been largely abandoned by the daytime flock of tourists. A city vibrant and alive with a happy energy, the ancient heart of it seemingly beating with each step that Bruce and Selina took. A warm breeze curled around them like a whisper, and each was thinking about how this might have been the most relaxed they'd been since they'd gotten here.

"So," Bruce began with a breath, his voice low and throaty. They stood beneath a street lamp that commenced its glowing as the last orange streaks of light in the early night sky faded away. "Knee-jerk shopping spree over. A thousand restaurants to choose from in this city. Pick any one you want."

Selina looked up at him, biting her lip and smiling coyly as she shrugged. She glanced around at the lively streets and eatery windows that beckoned with bright lights and delicious smells wafting from every direction. But she didn't pull in any particular direction of whimsy. Didn't want to reveal her hand too soon.

"I'm not starving. Are you? We can keep walking."

Bruce glanced down at the long, endless legs that revealed themselves to him beneath the fabric of the skirt she'd worn out of the store. Raised an eyebrow at her dainty feet tucked into sky-high heels that she never seemed to falter on. They made her slightly taller than him. How had he just noticed that now?

"You really want to keep walking around in _those_?"

Mischief flickered across her gaze as she leaned in close to his face to keep her voice at a whisper. "No pain, no gain, Wayne. Besides, I don't hear you complaining about the view."

His own lips curled into a grin as he felt the slightest touch of her cheek nuzzling his, and he shook his head at the epiphany this created. This may have been _their _moment, but it was _her _shopping trip. _Her_ sight-seeing adventure. _Her _dinner. Since they'd left Gotham behind, she'd cared for him in a way that made him wonder if it had thrown even Selina by surprise. Though she had claimed all along to be adaptable, she'd also claimed to not be one to sacrifice any of her independence. Not for him, not for anyone. And still, she had been by his side day and night. He hadn't asked it of her, but she'd been there, nonetheless. Now, he took a breath and blew it out, and then gave her an honest smile, because looking at her made him genuinely happy, and then he kissed her softly.

"Okay. How about we just keep walking then. Maybe stroll down by the river. Some of those home goods shops may still be open."

"You're suggesting more shopping? You're a glutton for punishment."

Secretly, she was pleased that he had already suggested heading toward the destination she had in mind, and she took a step forward as he echoed the movement with his own feet. Stayed beside her.

The Arno was extremely calm as they happened upon the promenade that paralleled it. The lightning from the streetlamps above hit the water at just the right angle to enhance the reflections and to create beautiful double images. As they approached the Piazza Ognissanti with its church facing the river, Selina tugged at Bruce's hand to stop him in his tracks, noticing for the first time that they were looking directly across at the Cestello, and the two churches were directly mirroring each other. In between, a drop-off point had the sound of cascading water humming in a soft roar, a spray of grey mist being sent into the air in front of them. It was something she hadn't noticed even during her lengthy run that morning, and both the complimentary and contrasting nature of the scene before them threw her for a loop.

_Outside of the church is no salvation, but water is essential for all dimensions of life. In our consciousness, there are many negative seeds but there are also positive seeds. The practice is to avoid watering the negative seeds, and to identify and water the positive seeds every day. _

Her grandmother's voice spoke to her, and Selina closed her eyes against the mist that coated her lashes. When she opened them again, Bruce was watching her curiously.

"What are you thinking?"

Echoing her question to him from earlier.

She shook her head. "It's hard to explain."

"Try me."

She swallowed. He was incorrigible. But she couldn't keep her face still. Couldn't keep from drawing her hands up to over her mouth. And her eyes. The skin around them crinkled, and everything just…lit.

"It's nothing. It's silly..."

"_Selina…"_

There was that tone he'd use with her. Warning, but gentle. Reassuring, but stern in a way that told her there were times he'd be determined to drag information out of her even if he had to take it with her kicking and screaming.

"It's just…a lot of things my grandmother said to me a long, long time ago are making sense to me now."

"Such as?"

He was cautious. Cautious with her to a point where he could let that caution wind a noose around his throat and strangle his questions away from him. She was slowly opening up to him a little at a time. Selina Kyle, work in progress.

"There were a lot of wisdoms she'd tell my sister and I about how things can just….take time." She paused and wrapped her hands over the railing by the water, lifting her feet off the ground just an inch as she breathed in the cool night air. "About how sometimes things come together because you just have to think…they will."

"You have to put the effort in?"

The wind laced each syllable of his voice as he stood firm behind her, close enough to touch but providing her the space she needed.

Then she turned and smiled, wry and weary, but the swell of…everything…seeming to burst from every pore of her being. "Something like that. You know...I've said a lot of stupid things when I was scared."

"Really? You?"

She softly slugged him in the shoulder. "Shut up, Wayne."

He took her hand again and they continued walking in contented silence. Beyond the bridge, just beyond the Capocaccia, and settling into the dining area of a quaint châteaux where, when they were seated, Selina could still keep a watchful eye on the patio of the café next door.

She had seen Bruce's own eyes wandering, his neck craning, as they had passed. He assumed he'd disguised the hopefulness in his gaze as he searched for his elusive prize. She knew better.

And it's why she decided - among the _clink_ of ice cubes, the hushed voice of other couples bent on romancing each other and actually doing a passing job at it, the footsteps of waiters and busboys, the _tink tink _of rustling silverware – that Bruce Wayne would get his day soon enough.

And he would be fine, for good.


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: **Final chapter before the epilogue! It took me a good month to get to where I wanted to be with this chapter, but I hope this does a good job of building up to what I plan to be a very lengthy, emotionally-wrought epilogue that I cannot wait to devote to every single person who has read, commented on and favorited this story. I have appreciated all of your readership more than any of you will ever know. I realize that this is just a fan fic and that all I'm doing is having my creative way with wonderful characters that incredibly talented writers, directors, actors and actresses brought to the screen in a thrilling trilogy. However, I tried to never treat any chapters of this as "just" fan fic. My intention was always to build up to "HOW did Bruce and Selina get from Gotham to Florence?", but to also write it in a way that was both believable and paid homage to this incredible couple. Thank you all for going on this little journey with me. :)

PS: The book that is mentioned in this chapter is actually one that appears on Selina's table (right near the doorway where Bruce was standing) in her apartment in TDKR. Thanks to all of the amazing people who put up high-res photos from the movie on Tumblr, I was able to pick that out!

* * *

**Chapter 22**

The air buffeted around Selina, whipping the tail end of her long coat back and forth. The temperature, which had been mostly warm since she and Bruce's arrival in Florence, had dipped since the day before and had resulted in a slightly cooler morning than she had already become accustomed to. No worries. The sun was supposed to shine brilliantly later on, which only further proved her theory that dark tasks called for a cold, dark atmosphere.

She stood inside the center of the lowest segmental arch of the Ponte Vecchio, some fourteen-and-a-half feet above the water level, the tips of her boots stopping perilously close to the edge of the walkway where there were no safety rails in place. Florence sprawled out beyond each side of the water in a creeping latticework of roads and buildings, shops and parks and churches, into the Arno, which was still and an olive-green color today. A light drizzle had fallen overnight, and the smell of must and moss still lingered on the stone surrounding her. She crept to the furthest, eastern-facing corner of the archway, right at the bend where the wind would be broken. Large pots of flowers and a bench sat facing where there would normally be a sunrise. It was a private crevice that Selina assumed couples probably occupied for rendezvous at dusk and dawn, but today she was utilizing it for a much more somber purpose.

She wondered how this was supposed to work. If she was supposed to say a few words, or if she was simply supposed to take care of what she had set out to do, with no ceremony to her actions whatsoever.

She couldn't think of any especially important words.

Well, that was a lie. She could. She could think of a lot of words. But not many of them were significant.

She stared at the urn she held, turning it around and around, the contents inside shifting the weight from one of her hands to the other. Her friend – or the closest thing she'd had to one back in Gotham – was inside of this container. She still didn't know quite how to feel about that. And Bruce wasn't here, as she'd dropped him at the hospital before making her way on foot across the city. He had seen her carry the urn from their hotel suite earlier this morning, but had said nothing to her about it. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about that, either.

She supposed he had learned enough when she'd spent the night before tossing and turning. At one point he had shaken her awake, and she'd sucked down a long, halting breath, blinking the nightmares away furiously before she resettled. He had pretended nothing had happened when they were both getting ready for their day in the bathroom earlier, except she had seen the way he had come up behind her in the mirror and had locked his gaze on the dark circles of flesh that had hung below her eyes. She merely patted makeup on the offensive areas as he dropped a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder and squeezed her arms affectionately before walking away. Damn him for sometimes being the perfect man that Jen had teased her about.

"_He's fucking gorgeous, Selina"_, Jen had said as they'd watched him hail a taxi outside of their apartment. "_Any other woman in the city would kill to have the 'prince of Gotham' show up at their doorstep. Even if he IS supposedly penniless. That makes him one of us now", _she'd said, and Selina remembered shooting her a look of exasperation before quickly pulling their curtains shut.

She would never have admitted that part of her had been pining that day, secretly hoping that he'd turn around and come back, even if she _had_ been deliberately flippant and dismissive of him. Now that she knew him better – knew him to be strong and supportive, calm and reassuring - she had to admit that she missed having him here, at this moment, standing inside the bridge and tucked away with her against the grayness.

Selina glanced down at the urn again, and then past it at the long drop, swallowing at the sudden vertigo the view brought. She backed up a step, startled, as she'd never been nervous about a _fall_ in her life. She was a woman who used to leap from rooftops. Who still could, if she so desired. Only now it might have been the first time in her life where she didn't feel the want, the pull, the draw to do so. Could it have been? That _some_ kind of normalcy had snuck up on her while she'd been mesmerized by the magnetic pull of this city, and of the man who had brought her here?

Nonsense. She could only imagine what Jen would say if she were here to see this. Selina Kyle, reduced to talking to ashes in a jar.

She twisted the lid as the levels above her head rumbled with the rush of automobiles and the footsteps of tourists. She heard the distant voices of shopkeepers, warm and inviting as they tried to draw people into their stores amidst a flurry of activity. Like in any major city, the swell of human beings swarmed like ants, and Selina knew then that this really was as good a place as any to give her former roommate a final resting spot. She may not be taking her friend all over the world, but this was the first place that Selina Kyle actually realized that an entire world was really out there.

She blinked, trying to focus, and shivered at the cool, damp air. It was now or never. This wasn't a moment of personal reflection as much as it was a moment of finality and release. Last words were never really worth a damn in the grand scheme of things. A strange sense of finality pounded at her. Last words. What on earth do you say to your dead friend who was the innocent victim of an uprising that _you_ originally wanted so badly?

_Okay, Selina…you can do this._

_Your eyes will NOT water with tears. _

_You're focused. Determined. Get this over with._

Her hands ran along the grainy surface of the urn as she peered at the dark dust inside. The material was ridged, not smooth. The ashes were dense, not light. She sighed and brushed her free hand against the back of her cheeks, feeling foolish. Then she swallowed.

_Okay. Here goes nothing. _

"So, Jen…I'm sure I've disappointed you," she began. Her voice didn't sound like her own, but she continued. "I know I left you to fend for yourself when I decided that I was getting the hell out of dodge. I thought you were prepared. I should have known better. I-"

She thought back to the last day they had seen each other, to the disparaging litany of pain her friend had dished at her about how wishy-washy she was. About how everyone in Gotham was now having fun except for _her_. How everyone was free to take what was rightfully theirs, and how social classes had been all but torn down….

"_This was someone's home_," _Selina remarked as she gently picked up a broken photograph from the floor of a luxury apartment now turned into a squat. Her fingertips ran over the dust and debris that had settled across the glass, revealing smiling faces underneath. These weren't just adults with or without money that Bane's takeover had affected. They were children, too. Innocent and powerless to stop their worlds from crumbling around them. Selina allowing this to take place under a child's roof was no better than her mother once allowing her father to dictate a different kind of uprising under the roof of the Kyle residence._

_Her roommate came up behind her and rested her chin against Selina's shoulder, a giggle in her breath causing her to sound as if she were high on life. "And now it's everyone's home," she pointed out. "There's a storm coming, remember? This is what you wanted."_

"_I thought it was what I wanted." Selina moved away and dropped her eyes to the floor, softly kicking aside the littered remains of the rooms they moved through. "I thought this was going to level the playing field. Instead, the city is under the rule of a madman who doesn't stand for anything other than death and destruction. He never planned on righting the frustrations of those who were denied justice in this city," she couldn't help but to sneer. "He was hiding his true agenda. He doesn't care who lives or dies. And unless we find a way out, we're all going to end up on the latter end of that list."_

_Jen turned and looked at the other women around them, some of whom were drinking from stolen champagne bottles and others who were looting through possessions that weren't theirs, laughing it up, having a good time. None of them seemed worried. In fact, they embraced this change. "You know, Selina…you're the only one being a major buzz kill right now," she pouted. "Don't go getting all pissy on me because you had to do some time in the slammer."_

_Selina eyed her friend warily. "Trust me, princess. It was safer in there than it is out here. Any day now, you're going to wish we had steel bars to hide behind." _

Selina sighed. Just standing there, thinking about all of this, was exhausting. She hated funerals. Even if this didn't exactly qualify as one. And she was frustrated that she couldn't say what she wanted to, couldn't find the words she wanted. But then she let an undertow of rage swell from somewhere within her, and she couldn't stop it. She paced back and forth across the archway as she let the words liberate her.

"You know what, Jen? I hate that I never got to know the real person inside of you. Not the one always out to follow my lead or looking for a score, but that girl who first showed up at the club and needed a place to crash. The one with the crazy streaks in her hair, the fishnet stockings and the army boots. Remember how afraid you were that night? I should have ended it there. Should have gotten you out before you even got in. But you wanted to impress everyone. Show how street-smart you could be. I guess smart is never smart enough, huh?"

And then Selina was ranting, ranting, and the words tumbled from her lips in one long, babbling discourse.

"I hate it," she said as her legs continued to guide her. "I hate that the one thing I'll remember most about you is that you followed everyone around like a sad little puppy, as if you had no ambitions of your own. I had to figure things out on my own, the hard way. But you? You just kind of fell in line behind me. My replacement little sister. I think you liked that I could support your 'life really sucks' theory. But guess what? I have a life now that doesn't suck, at least not these days. I'm happy to be alive, and out of Gotham. That guy who came to our place, the one you thought was so hot? He's a good person. An actual _good_ person. One who kept a promise to me. And I'm pissed that you missed all of it. It makes me….it makes me fucking angry at you."

Selina stood there, her heart racing as the words skittered to a stop, leaving her hollow and cold. She clenched her fingers around the urn as, after long moments, the flush of anger left her. The deep, panting, overwhelming breaths of air she gulped in calmed down. And then she was just a person, standing inside of a bridge in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, trying to say goodbye to a friend. She could almost feel the anger seeping out of her soul and slipping away into the misty gray.

She tilted the urn on its side and allowed the wind to catch its contents, some of the ashes falling to the water below and others being carried away, dancing on invisible waves of air as they floated and then eventually disappeared. She continued shaking the container, down and around and around, until every last bit of ash was nothing more than atmospheric dust and she was looking blearily at her hands, willing them to stop shaking.

Then she silently replaced the lid and pitched the container into the water, sure she had just done something illegal but not really giving a damn. So she just turned and walked. Walked away up the steps to street level, where she blends in amongst the crowds and the swirl in her gut stops, and she no longer feels weak and unfocused, but actually…happy…despite the unpredictability of whatever might come next.

* * *

The Physical Medicine department at the Gruppo Villa Maria was busy.

Bruce sat in the patient treatment area as several of the attending physicians on Dr. Luciano's staff tended to him, poking and prodding from what felt like every angle. His head was propped up so that his chin rested on a metal ring with some type of cushioned material wrapped around his face, his elbows resting on arm bars to his side. His legs splayed, he sat at a somewhat awkward angle, almost as if he was in a slumped and defeated position despite the fact that on this sixth day of treatment, he was feeling better, physically, than he had in a long time. He hadn't been particularly looking forward to coming in for this appointment, but he couldn't deny that his resting pain level was already improving on a daily basis.

This, he knew, was thanks in part to Selina.

After each of his previous five appointments, she had been prepared with information on what new symptoms he'd be dealing with, what exercises he could do to alleviate them, how much rest he should be getting, and even what type of foods he should be eating to maintain a nutritional balance that would help him to feel stronger. Despite the fact that her knowledge of his situation came from books, pamphlets and websites, she had been invaluable to him during a time when he needed someone patient, strong and understanding by his side.

She had been his rock, even when she was dealing with the somber weight of mourning.

He'd known that she hadn't slept well the night before. Every time he'd fallen into a doze, her thrashing about would lure him back out of slumber and into reality. And he'd lain there. Staring at the ceiling until both of their eyes had drooped shut and the whole cycle had started again, over and over, like they were stuck in instant replay. He'd been grateful for when the time came that the alarm went off and he was supposed to be functional.

Coordinated acts of grooming no longer felt like some sort of form of slow, physical self-torture. Whereas getting up to get ready – showering, shaving, brushing his teeth – had felt lumbering and slow even a couple of days ago, today he completed each of these tasks mostly pain-free, and with a cutting clarity that had allowed him to notice the upset and grimness that had lingered on Selina's features. He'd tried as best as he possibly could to give her space this morning, knowing this was the best way to deal with her when she shut down, and he had seen her grab the urn and tote it with her before she had driven him to the hospital in silence.

This is what weighed on his mind, now, as he felt the pressure of a needle push through soft tissue and into the bone at the base of his neck. _She _was what weighed on his mind. She had been so supportive of him, and he wanted to be the same for her. If she let him. Every day, he was making what he considered to be small strides with her. He continued to wonder, however, when all of these small cracks he was making in the tough exterior around her heart would eventually break down those walls and let him all the way in.

"Mr. Pennyworth, are you feeling any pressure in your shoulder area from the fluids?"

Bruce shook his head, still fascinated to realize that during these treatments, everything from the neck down felt numb, frozen. That would wear off after another twenty minutes or so, but it still threw him, as he was used to always being in complete control of his motor skills.

"No, mostly just some light pressure in the vertebrae," he answered, and he knew that this also meant newly-formed bruises straight down his back that he'd notice later in the day. Those, too, would disappear over time, but it was interesting to him now how he could be a walking contradiction – bruised, puffed full of fluids, with track marks everywhere – but actually physically feel _good_ at the same time.

"I'm actually very pleased with your vertebral stability today," came the reply, and Bruce stiffly turned his head to the left to assess which doctor the voice belonged to. Dr. Alessandro. Tall kid. Gawky. Definitely younger than Bruce by a good seven or eight years, he guessed. "The middle and posterior zones are actually showing a significant amount of improvement. The anterior is where we need to focus, but that's actually very good news considering that you originally came in here with a wider interlaminar space implying much more severe injury to the posterior ligamentous structures."

Bruce gritted his teeth against the sting of the injections – made up of lidocaine, dextrose, phenol, glycerin, and platelet-rich plasma - now moving north into the base of his skull. "You wanna offer any of that to me in layman's terms, doc?"

"Based on our initial assessments, we assumed that your middle and lower back would be receiving the most significant treatment aside from the treatment of your post-concussion symptoms, and therefore would also take the longest time to heal. Beyond today, where I think we'll be concentrating our greatest efforts are your C-2 to C-7 facet joints – which basically means we're looking at the trigger points in your neck. The suboccipital muscles in your neck are where a lot of your headaches start, as well. So if we can really work on that area over the next day or two, I think you'll be extremely happy with the difference you'll notice, physically."

"Does this alter the timeline of my treatment?" Bruce asked hopefully. He was annoyed when he sensed mild amusement from the doctor who was prepping another needle in front of him.

"Mr. Pennyworth, based on the extent of your numerous injuries, yours is still a case of weeks, and potentially months – not days," Dr. Luciano's voice boomed from across the room. "As we've discussed, you're technically a clinical study patient. How you respond to our aggressive treatments could significantly change the way that we handle other cases."

"Consider yourself our guinea pig," Dr. Alessandro spoke up, and Bruce would have shot him a look of aggravation if he'd been at all capable of turning around.

The only thing that continued to make these lengthy treatments bearable was the thought that here in Italy, there was very little chance of anyone ever recognizing Bruce Wayne sitting there, sometimes looking pale and pasty and generally tired. Nobody wanted to talk business and finance with him, or take his picture, or even offer general pleasantries just because he was _somebody_. He had come to appreciate being a nobody. It suited him. Thomas Pennyworth was allowed to be a jeans-and-t-shirt-wearing, pile-of-exhausted-unwellness kind of guy. In other peoples' eyes, he hoped he blended in as just another weary patient, especially when he was often stuck in the position of staring at the pattern of the carpet at his feet. He wanted to be unnoticed. Unseen.

His awareness of the room phased out for a heartbeat as he felt fingers seemingly touching him everywhere. His back, his neck, his head, his knees. Somebody's hands braced him as one of the needles sank straight into the back of his cranium, the hollow sound of the resistance of his flesh causing him to grip the bars his arms rested in even tighter. He couldn't reach up to claw the hands away. The concept of his personal space had been all but torn away, but he had to remember that all of these people were here to help him. Every appointment was a test in patience for a man who had largely ignored real medical assistance since the adoption of his alter ego. Leslie had been the only medical professional he'd allowed into his inner sanctum, but in a way she had helped him realize that he needed to trust whomever necessary in order to get back to the best physical shape possible.

Dr. Luciano walked around to the front of the chair that Bruce was in, and bent down to look him in the face as he practiced deep breathing to work through the pain. "We'll be finished with the injections in a few minutes, and then I think we'll give you a twenty-minute breather and get you set up for an hour session in the hyperbaric chamber."

A long pause followed as Bruce contemplated. He tried to talk himself into it. Tried to get himself to just…fucking…accept it, be patient, just do what they said. Some days were easier than others. Today wasn't one of those days. Today, when he physically felt good, his emotions were toying with him, warring with him…his mind kept drifting back to Selina. He didn't want to sit around here for another hour and a half and wait to talk to her. She would be here soon as it was, and he didn't want to keep her waiting around a damn hospital. There had been no plan for chamber therapy today.

"I can't do HBOT today," Bruce choked out as he looked the doctor in the eye. "I just..can't."

"Mr. Pennyworth, you _do_ realize that we expect you to undergo HBOTs nearly every time you're here for an appointment. We have a prioritized list of symptoms to target that aren't going to go away just with the injections. Constant headaches with tunnel vision and dizziness. Sleep disruption. Fatigue. Imbalance. Intrusive and combative thoughts. Need I go on?"

Bruce dropped his head and closed his eyes. "Fine…I'll do it," he muttered lamely, but then an edge crept into his voice as he cracked his eyelids open again and lifted his chin. "I'll do it, but my….Ms. Robinson…will be arriving shortly, and I want her in there with me."

The rest of his treatment team began edging their way out of the room amidst the crinkling of disposed needles being stored into biohazard containers and sanitary furniture coverings being stripped away. Bruce sat up in the chair and rubbed his chin at the raw spot where it had rested in the holder, swallowing against the dry wreck that his throat had become. He watched with a certain sense of clarity coming to him as Dr. Luciano snapped his chart shut and reached to close the Venetian blinds that gave them a view into the outside hallway. The doctor then grabbed a stool and spun it so that he could sit directly facing his patient.

"Mr. Pennyworth, the uh…considerable monetary donation…that you've made to this hospital in return for our staff's discretion in regards to your treatments is certainly…appreciated. But if we bend our policies for even one patient, we have to do it for all. I'm afraid that rules are rules. During clinical trials, especially, we need to be very careful about the number of bodies who are passing through the treatment areas. This means any visitors who aren't family need to remain in the designated waiting areas."

As he spoke, Bruce looked beyond him, to rectangular shapes on the wall that seemed to now jump out at him and occupy his entire field of vision. Photos of happy, smiling people. On cruise ships. In front of Christmas trees. Others were posed portraits, adults lined up in the back and children in the front. It caused Bruce's eyes to narrow and something inside of him snapped as his inner tension broke, his faraway look dissolving into a questioning stare that he directed at the doctor.

"You have a family. People you…go home to when you leave work."

It was a statement – not a question – and Dr. Luciano simply nodded. Nodded while pictures of Selina in a maid's uniform jabbed at Bruce's brain. He remembered her, crossing the floor toward him, that smirk on her face that had caused something in his chest to flip, flop. The heart he'd forgotten he'd had. The soul that had forgotten how to feel.

"Ms. Robinson and I went through events together that far exceed the bond of names on paper," Bruce said evenly, feeling the weight of the truth of his words as he spoke. "She…saved my life. For everything in this world I'd be willing to give her, the fact that she doesn't yet share my last name is insignificant at this point. She IS my family. The hospital's rule – YOUR office's rule – is that only _family_ are allowed back into the treatment areas. Well…" He smiled, the exhaustion on his face melting just a little as he repeated his declaration, as if he needed to hear his own voice say it again so that even he would understand the enormity of it. "SHE is my family. So really, there is no 'bending the rules'. But if you still feel that strongly about it, I'm sure I'd be able to find another clinical trial that would be happy to allow her to sit by my bedside while my check is being cashed."

The doctor floundered for a minute, his mouth opening and closing, but no retaliatory comments peppered the air beyond his lips. No more talk about 'rules'. Then his eyebrows raised and a slight look of both bemusement and wonder crossed his gaze as he shook his head.

"I have to say, Mr. Pennyworth, that an awful lot of my nurses are going to be sorely disappointed. They've all been asking if you're off the market. I guess once you're girlfriend is in here, they'll see what I saw when you brought her in here during that first appointment. Not only are you happily taken, but I can tell that your lady is a force to be reckoned with."

* * *

Selina eased down carefully onto her side of the bed, tucked her bare feet underneath her and cracked her book along the spine, which was worn to the point that the title was faded and illegible. Some of the remnants of pages still clung to the inside glue strip, but for the most part, most of the paper that was once bound together had stopped clinging uselessly. Life on the streets of Gotham and her many times of packing up and moving had killed it, though the pages still harbored a faint new paper smell that she always did enjoy breathing in.

_Labyrinth. _It was one of her favorites. She didn't know why she liked it so much. It was about the blending of the lives of two women divided by centuries but united by a common destiny, steeped in the atmosphere and history of southern France. She'd read this book many times over the years, always telling herself that she'd likely never get the opportunity to see what the world was like outside of the walls of Gotham, let alone on the other side of the ocean. But now, because of Bruce, she imagined that she'd be seeing France much sooner rather than later.

The world was her oyster, and for once, she didn't have to steal the pearl inside.

She had just begun to turn the first few weathered pages when he stirred beside her, and she carefully set the weathered novel aside and turned toward him. She couldn't figure out when it was that she had gotten into this habit of watching him wake up, but he had this unique way that he sort of fluttered his eyes slowly, contentment rumbling from deep within him in a way that was solely, uniquely Bruce Wayne…and she loved every second of it.

She gathered up the tent of her dress over her legs, then balanced herself on her left palm as she hovered over him, unable to stop herself from breathing him in as her fingers brushed over his face lightly. And when he focused his eyes on her and sighed at the attention, she knew it was because he had been poked and prodded and touched all morning. But this? This was Selina resetting his balance, and his sounds of contentment let her know that he yearned for more.

For Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle's touch was relief in its purest form.

"How long have I been out?" he asked as he stretched, craning his neck against his pillow and arching his back slightly off the bed.

"A few hours. It's around 4 o'clock."

"Mmmm." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, noting that she smelled clean and soapy. Then his gaze swept up and down her dress, pulled in by the cobalt blue, and he smiled at her lazily and gently ran his hands over the sweeping column of her neck that held the pearls he'd given her.

"You're all dressed up."

She made a face. "I'm not. I just thought that maybe we could go out for a walk, get a bite to eat…"

"You're always after me about eating." He allowed his hands to gently frame her face before smoothing up and over her hair, which she had neatly secured back in a ponytail. This was also a new look for her, and part of him wondered if maybe he wasn't stuck in some really fantastic dream.

"I wouldn't have to be," she answered as she narrowed her eyes and toyed with the hem of his t-shirt, "if you ever expressed any _real _interest in eating. I'm pretty sure you'd starve if I wasn't around, Wayne."

He snorted, an amused sound passing over his vocal cords before he could stop it. "If you weren't around, I'd have been down for the count a long time ago."

His arm snaked around the back of her waist as he pulled her closer to kiss her again, only this time more deeply. She brushed against the vague hint of stubble on his chin as she leaned into him, tilting her head as he teased her over and over with his lips. She felt him exhale as he pulled back mere millimeters, his nose hovering parallel to hers as he nuzzled her face and allowed his mouth to trail over her cheeks and then down to her chin, where he sucked and bit playfully before she caught him staring.

Staring at her with a hooded, desire-filled, heated gaze that told her _exactly_ what he was hungry for in this moment. And it certainly wasn't food.

"Oh, I don't think so," she whispered throatily as she begrudgingly moved herself off of him. "Go try on the jeans and shirt that I left out on the vanity in the bathroom, and then get a shower. We're going _out_ to eat."

Bruce's eyebrows crinkled together as he registered her directions. "Try on clothes and then shower? You like to do things backward."

"Backward, forward, horizontally, diagonal…and you're not getting any of that right now," she quipped as she sauntered across the room and slid her feet into a pair of relatively low-slung heels. "_I'm_ going to read on the balcony while I wait for _you_ to shower. And then we'll head down to that quaint little café by the river and indulge in some overpriced antipasto as we watch the sun set."

She moved back toward the bed and went to reach for her book when she felt Bruce's warm hand grasp her around the wrist.

"You were down by the river this morning. You want to talk about it?"

Selina shook her head and dropped her eyes, warding off the nervous butterflies that were threatening to invade her stomach. "I'd rather not at the moment, if that's okay with you."

Bruce nodded and dropped her wrist, hoping that perhaps she'd be more open to talking over dinner. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Selina to breathe a sigh of relief in his wake.

When he had closed the door and she was sure that she was in complete privacy, she grabbed both the book off the bed and her phone off the nightstand, then walked out toward the balcony as she dialed the number she had forced herself to memorize earlier in the day.

"Yes, this is RosaMaria Pennyworth," she responded to the voice on the other end once the call was connected. "I'm just calling to see that my surprise gift was delivered to Mr. Alfred Pennyworth this afternoon, and to inquire as to whether he indicated that he'd be stopping by the café this evening." There was a slight pause in her end of the conversation, and then a satisfied smile played across her lips. "He indicated that he'll be having a nightcap at sunset, then? Perfect. You've been most helpful."

She dropped onto a lounge chair and tilted her face toward the Florence sky, the perfect, warm air that had moved in since earlier in the day lightly caressing her skin. She could almost hear the movement of the water from here, and a flash of rightness strummed at her from the tips of her toes all the way up to the space around her heart. Something constricted and squeezed inside of her, but as she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, all she knew was that since this morning, something inside of her had changed for the better.

Some fifteen minutes later, when Bruce walked up behind her and slid a hand along her arm that dangled loosely over the side of the chair, she opened her eyes and looked up at him appreciatively. White t-shirt. Muted purple shirt hanging open over top of it. Deep blue denim snugly fit around his waist. He looked relaxed. So very un-Bruce Wayne. He could almost make her forget herself in this moment. _Almost_.

"Hey, where were you?" He ran his palm up to her shoulder and gently squeezed.

She looked up at him and frowned. "I've been here the whole time."

"No," he grinned. "I mean, where were you in your head? I called your name at least a few times."

"Oh." She quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. Just thinking, I guess. It feels different."

"What feels different?"

"I don't know. Being here. Just…this whole day."

He squatted down in the chair beside her, his sandals crunching against the pavement with the force of his weight. "Different how?"

"I don't know. I can't put my finger on it." She stared at him seriously before she grasped tightly to his arm to hoist herself up off of the lounge, giving him a look as he stood. This felt like a repeat of their 'date' from several days back. Only this time, something felt different, indeed.

He couldn't put his finger on it, either. It wasn't just that they were both relaxed. The weight of something…expected…hung in the air as they made their way out of the hotel.

He merely shrugged to himself as he let one hand settle into the small of Selina's back as they walked. The hand eventually settled all the way around her waist, pulling her close to him as their feet moved simultaneously. He didn't want to question his decision to just let himself go with _this_…whatever this feeling was.

These were all defining moments for him. He allowed himself to inhale, deep and calm, like the slow crawl of water on a sun-kissed afternoon along a river bank.

But this? This was nothing compared to the expression he would wear shortly. When a surreal sort of peace would spread over his features, and his whole body would unwire itself and let go of months of heartache.

When, with a single nod of his head, a friend and father's unconditional love would unfurl around him like a tapestry, rich and reverent and full.


	23. Epilogue

So this is it! The final chapter - the epilogue - of this story that I started months ago, with absolutely NO idea that I would carry it this far. I became so caught up in the amazing characters that Christopher Nolan, Christian Bale and Anne Hathaway lovingly brought to life in _The Dark Knight Rises_, and being able to finally own the DVD just added more fuel to my fire (though I will admit, watching the movie again and again slightly slowed my writing process, even if it also inspired it). I couldn't be MORE grateful for every single one of you who have read and reviewed this story. A special shout-out goes to three readers in particular. **IreneSelina**, who has given me the sweetest and most encouraging feedback for every chapter (since day 1!), and who has crafted and posted the most amazing photo sets on tumblr to go along with this story. Some of those photo sets made me feel like the Bruce and Selina from THIS story were being brought to life in photos, and it made it so fun to see how the chapters and photos would match up each time. Then there's **Slingblade125**, whose own Bruce and Selina stories I've hopelessly fallen for. She is an amazing, amazing writer who I'm extremely jealous of, and she has also provided me amazing feedback and made me feel at times like she and I share a brain, at least where our love for these characters is involved! And finally to **AGayofShadows, **who wrote me all the way from Germany to tell me how much she liked this story. As far as I know, that's the furthest away (that I'm aware of) of anyone who has been touched by this story, and I was thrilled to think that someone across the world from me was not only reading, but took the time to respond. It's because of readers and those who provide feedback, that part of me feels encouraged enough to perhaps continue this story in one-shots down the road. :)

For those who have been anonymously reading, I would absolutely love to finally hear from you, and get your thoughts on the entire story as a whole. Good thoughts or bad, at least it would mean you took the time to read! :)  
I wish I could have done justice to what ALL of you wanted for Bruce and Selina throughout these chapters. But one thing I had to keep in mind as I wrote, was that I was writing for ME as much as I was writing for YOU. So to sum it up...I hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing!

Also, wishing you all the happiest of holidays. :)

* * *

**Epilogue:**

_He found Alfred in the expansive kitchen of Wayne Manor, unwrapping trays of meat that had been stored in the refrigerator. His clipped, methodical movements made him look... upset. Older. Weary. The sniffle that young Bruce heard, as if his butler was staving off tears, solidified the suspicions that had burgeoned since he'd watched Alfred cutting his sandwiches at lunch like he'd meant to stab them and kill them, not serve them._

_Since his parents' funeral, Alfred didn't ever cry in front of him. He always carried on right and proper, trying to be strong for his young charge, like he thought it would be a sin for Bruce to think that he might be less than superhuman. He didn't think that the perceptive boy heard his anguish at night, sometimes, through the bedroom wall. Now, with the first public function to be held at the Manor since Thomas and Martha Wayne's deaths – a public show of support for scholarships that were being made available to Thomas' young medical interns and business students alike – Alfred struggled with the fact that the once-bustling property would again be alive with the sounds of music, laughter and dignified speech without his terribly missed employers being there to witness it. _

_Despite being too young to understand all that had gone on around him in the past few months, Bruce Wayne's heart squeezed as he took in the sight of his kind-hearted caregiver toiling along on kitchen preparation as if this event were the only thing keeping him upright. Other members of the staff – particularly Mrs. Dodson – had sat down with Bruce and dutifully explained to him that it would take some time for all of them to adjust to their new routines. That they, like Bruce, were sad and grieving. But for his part, Alfred had been strong. Stoic. Composed in the face of immense sadness. _

"_Alfred?" Bruce finally said, his child-like voice soft, concerned. __Alfred's head __jerked at the sound of his voice. "Yes, Master Bruce?" he asked as he looked up. He seemed fine, based only on the superficial. Then he saw the child's eyes wandering around the room, passing over the many trays of food that would be soon carted to buffet tables in the Great Room. "No, I don't need help," he said in an even tone. "Why don't you go back out and play with Miss Rachel?" _

_Bruce's ears sharpened at the sound of Rachel's shrieks of laughter floating through the halls, followed by another excited shriek and a thump. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the door fame. "Rachel has another friend over," he said with a sour face. Some friend that Mrs. Dodson said was here to play with Rachel while she helped you with the dinner preparations. Why isn't she helping you, Alfred?"_

_"Don't you worry yourself with such trivial things," Alfred responded as he turned back to the counter. Foil and plastic crinkled on packages of bread and rolls that he balanced, and Bruce walked up to the counter and stood on the stool that Alfred often kept nearby, his small and chubby hand closing around a baguette before Alfred swatted his fingers away._

_"You'll spoil your dinner." _

_But then, without prodding, he reached for the loaf and swiped a knife-full of butter across it, handing it back to the brown-eyed boy who took a grateful bite as he looked around, as though this was some secret they shared between them. As he chewed, he touched his butler's arm and looked at him in earnest. "Are you really okay, Alfred?" he said. "You seem..." He swallowed, looking for a word. "Sad."_

_Alfred sighed, like he'd lost his patience, and dropped what he was doing. He slid a kitchen towel around the back of Bruce's neck and dropped to eye level with the boy. "No, I'm not okay, Master Bruce."_

_He blinked. A lump thickened in his throat. He didn't like talking about this, but if the child asked questions and needed an adult to be honest with him, he would make himself suffer through it. "I'm thinking about your parents, and how happy they would have been to be here this evening, to see your father's hard work put to good use by bright young minds. Someday, young man, you'll be like these students. Off to college. Off to see the world."_

_At this, Bruce gave him a bewildered look that tugged at his heartstrings. "Alfred, I don't want to leave you!"_

_Alfred sighed and ran his fingers through his graying hair, the lump in his throat becoming the size of a baseball when he pulled the child into an embrace that made his mind drift to the potential for what this young man had in front of him."Oh, Master Bruce, you won't be leaving me. I'll be there for you, wherever you go and whatever you do. Even if you go all the way around the world, marry a beautiful young lady, and have children of your own some day."_

_Bruce's bewildered look turned into one of gross exasperation. "Married? Gross!"_

"_You say that now, young lad, but some day, when you're introducing me to the most beautiful girl in the world, I'll remind you of this conversation." The mist in Alfred's eyes faded as he winked knowingly and then patted Bruce first on the head, and then on the rear as he ushered him back out of the kitchen. _

"_You'll find a girl who would have made your mum and dad proud," he whispered quietly as he watched the mop of brown hair wander away. If nothing else, Alfred Pennyworth knew that Bruce Wayne had already seen far too much horror for one very short lifetime. Somehow, some day, he would find the happiness that he so deserved._

* * *

Red.

The flowers in the flower boxes by their table were red. A nondescript couple was walking by them in matching leather jackets, which had struck Selina as odd since the day had gotten much warmer.

Diagonally seated across from them, and almost behind Selina, was another young couple. A brunette, wearing a coral-colored top and with her hair half pulled back, was dominating their conversation.

Selina Kyle had pasted into her mind the exact moment that Bruce Wayne had spotted his longtime butler, friend and father figure. They had been discussing possibly visiting a local furniture showroom the following day to start filling up their home in Otranto, and Selina had been quietly looking around the café, taking mental images of the Tuscan-inspired décor and furniture. Bruce had been watching her with an amused expression, secretly not only glad that she continued to be enthusiastic about eventually getting back to the house, but also that anymore, most of their conversations were easy and meaningful. Then his gaze shifted, and a small smile appeared over his lips as his eyes seemingly lit up with recognition.

It was all Selina could do to look away from him as a barely discernable grin of triumph played across her own features. She didn't have to turn to see what Bruce was so focused on. Didn't have to identify the person who had caused a restoration of faith to literally cloak him in what she could only surmise was the most content guise he'd ever worn. It was as if peace of mind came to him and washed over him with just the simplest nod of his head.

That she wanted it to be even _more_ for him was an understatement. Never the romantic at any point in her life – and certainly not a person who believed in happy endings – Selina was hoping to look at him and perhaps see that razor moment of clarity where his eyes watered with an unexpected swell of emotion, and where he worked to swallow the lump in his throat. Perhaps she wanted these things for him because she had never yearned for them herself. Had never had the desire for any type of poignant moment with a family member, friend, or anyone she'd lost touch with.

And so she was completely shocked when Bruce simply lifted his head and caught her eyes again with his, his shoulders seemingly relaxing as months of built-up tension rolled off of them in waves. She didn't know what to think as his gaze took her in, head to toe, and suddenly she felt odd. Odd to see him size her up to objectively, like someone who wasn't aware that he had just experienced such a breakthrough, life-altering moment. She wanted to turn and find Alfred for herself, then grab Bruce by his collar and shake him while yelling in his face.

_That's all? That's all you're going to do when you've been waiting months for this moment?_

She leaned forward on her elbows and toyed with the aviator sunglasses he kept tucked in the collar of his t-shirt, mentally willing him to get up and go to his surrogate father. But he merely reached to pluck the object from her grasp, settling the glasses back over his eyes before covering her left hand with his while he used the right one to snatch up the bill that their server had placed on the table.

"You ready to go?" he asked, and Selina was almost too stunned to answer. Shocked that his voice and behavior betrayed no particular sentiment. Caught off-guard that he didn't even share with her what – _who_ – he had just witnessed.

_Well damn you, Bruce Wayne, you stupid fool. And you think I'M the one who can be emotionally infuriating._

"I think I'm going for a run when we get back," she all but snapped as she stood and pushed back her chair.

She saw the shift in his jaw immediately as his mind reigned in her obvious dismissal of him. "You ok?" he asked as he, too, got to his feet. His forehead furrowed as he tried to understand her instantaneous change in mood, the trace of the scar he had left there seeming to dance over his eye. It was the one thing she noticed when the glasses concealed the most important part of his expression.

"Fine," she said with a bluntness that told him she was anything but. He reached to close a hand gently around her arm as she began to move away from the table, stopping her in her tracks as he bent his lips low next to her ear.

"Is the morning finally catching up with you?"

She looked at him and pursed her lips, actually having nearly forgotten about what a long day it had been. Wasn't it just like him to turn this around to being about her? She defiantly turned her head and shook his grasp off of her, squaring her shoulders and marching ahead of him to the credenza where they would pay.

Bruce watched her retreating form with mild confusion, but couldn't resist the momentary pang he felt at looking at the vacated seat where Alfred had been. He had thought it would be for the best to simply let the older man walk away, as he recalled this very specific detail of the fantasy Alfred had told him about –

_You wouldn't say anything to me, nor me to you. But we'd both know that you had made it. That you were happy._

Bruce sighed as he reached into his pocket and felt for his wallet, worried at first when he couldn't locate it, but not at all surprised when he looked up to see Selina pulling fresh, crisp bills from it and handing them over to an obviously smitten restaurant concierge. He stood back and watched as the man made animated conversation with her, making sure his fingers lingered longer than necessary when he handed back their change. Selina rewarded the stranger with a dazzling smile that made Bruce's insides clench, and he walked up beside her and placed a hand on the small of her back.

For a vague, interminable moment, Selina turned to him and their eyes met, her breath catching hard in her chest at the pained look that he gave her. She bit her lip and looked away, flustered at the sudden rush of blood in her face as Bruce wordlessly took his wallet back from her and returned it to where she had cleverly snatched it from. For the benefit of the concierge and in an effort to internally calm himself, Bruce slipped a casual grin onto his face, pulling the corners of his lips into the slightest upward curl before threading his fingers through Selina's and leading them out of the café.

The city, now falling into dusk, blurred and twisted in front of Selina as they walked. She didn't want to be that person who was always a negative bundle of emotions every time Bruce upset her. She was determined not to be that cliché – like a dam breaking, and someone who just let ugly words and actions pour out of her just because they could. She had been trying hard to work on that, for her own benefit as much as for his. Truth be told, in this moment she was most upset for the opportunity that he'd just let pass by him. And here he was just casually strolling along, his body language harboring a kind of certainty that she couldn't understand.

Like even if he never saw Alfred again, he would be okay with that.

But Selina? She had not even the slightest clue why she couldn't reconcile what felt like a million live wires racing around inside of her. In her head, she was already plotting her next move, determined to bring some type of closure to this situation.

She felt him caressing her knuckles, saying with his actions what she wasn't sure why he wouldn't say with words. Bruce had never been shy about voicing his frustrations about _her_ frustrations with him, and she had no doubt that he was less than pleased with her behavior in the last ten minutes. They hadn't fought lately, but whenever they disagreed, bickered – these festering, emotional wounds they picked at now and then – Bruce was the one who refused to let them fall to the rocks below. _He _was the one who grabbed her thoughts before they fell off the edge of a cliff, who got them both to smile and put themselves back together.

In those actions, they both admitted things to the other that they couldn't even admit to themselves.

This wasn't some fake thing. It wasn't some wrong thing to just forget when things got difficult. The feelings they had both developed over the course of the past few months were all-consuming, like a fire threatening to incinerate them both, set off like the swipe strike of a match during a brazen burglary.

For the moment, however, the silence lingered as they made their way back up to their hotel room. The silence that, for Selina, had became unbearable, almost hard for her to breathe in. The dull ache in her chest persisted. She watched him walk back out to the balcony after they let themselves in their suite, his hands tucked casually into his pockets and his chin lifting to observe the stars dotted like sequins and crystals across the early night sky. Selina shrugged off her dress and let it pool at her feet, stepping out of it and walking across the room to pull on a black t-shirt, black track pants and sneakers. She watched him carefully through the open balcony doors as she dressed, observing the way his shoulders hunched almost in a defeated manner, one hand coming out of his right pocket to run aimlessly through his wind-swept hair before coming to rest on the railing that stood against his hip.

She walked up behind him and slid her arms around his midsection, feeling slightly better that he instantly relaxed under her touch. She rested her chin on his right shoulder for a long heartbeat, pressing her lips gently to his earlobe before pulling back and whispering words that surprised him

"I want to see you take every opportunity," she breathed, words falling from her lips in a sudden need to fill the void between them. She'd known she hadn't done this. This wasn't all her fault. It was partially about Alfred, and she knew it. But when he had no idea that she knew it, her fitting words came as a surprise to him.

His eyebrows raised, but he remained quiet as he turned, taking her hands into his own and worrying his fingers at her palm. He stared at them for what seemed like a never-ending moment of stillness.

And then he brought the palm of her right hand to his lips and kissed it. "Okay," he said. He gave her a look then, one it made her insides somersault, because it was a smile that crept across his whole face, and she knew he really meant it. He was okay, despite the confusion and warring emotions that still hung deep and haunting in his gaze.

"I'm going out for a run. Okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah."

She turned to go, then, but she felt the pull of him at her hand, which he squeezed again before letting it finally drop.

_How scary must it be for him_, she wondered, _to realize how much power she and all of his indecisions held over him_? The thought made her tremble, but she refused to let the fear take her.

She would fix this.

* * *

Early spring was a great season to appreciate the beauty of Italian cities after dark, particularly Florence. Many of the monuments were bathed in the glow of spotlights, giving them both a haunting and beautiful look that captivated Selina as she cut across the plaza leading toward Alfred's hotel. She paused in front of one of the reflecting fountains, barely able to make out the water in the dimness, save for the dots of the lights of far-off, lit hotel windows somehow still managing to capture their shimmer in the stagnant pools. The clusters of people who normally crowded around the fountain's walls had long since sought out other entertainment for the evening, and Selina crouched down low against the brick, swinging her legs so that her feet were skimming just above the water's ripples, and pulled out her cell phone.

After three rings, she ended the call and waited.

Her lips curled up into a red, wolfish smirk as her phone vibrated less than a few minutes later.

"You miss me, handsome?" she breathed as she answered. She was rewarded by the soft rumble of Lucius Fox's slight laughter on the other end.

"My day is cloaked in darkness until the sound of your voice colors it, Ms. Robinson. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Selina bit her lip, her fingers fleeting in a tap dance across the back of the device she held. "And here I always thought you were psychic. I'll tell you what. I'm thinking of a hotel room number between five and five hundred. Now go ahead and make my day."

"My, my. You _do_ get right to the point of asking for what you want."

"I'm used to taking what I want. When I'm being nice, I ask."

"Touché, my dear. Your traveling companion's birth date is 10-13."

"You're lucky that some women are quick to figure out a challenge."

"Challenge? It's simple arithmetic, Ms. Robinson. Sometimes more…intelligent…minds will figure it out more quickly than others."

"I've only been accused of being dumb once. It didn't work out too well for the other guy."

Fox could hear the smile in her words, and he found one creeping across his own face, as well. "I would certainly imagine it didn't. Now is there something else I can do for you?"

Selina stood and rose up onto the balls of her feet, peering over the wall and toward the hotel as she did so. "Yeah. Wish me luck."

"You? Luck? I doubt you'll need it."

Selina shook her head and said goodbye to Fox a few moments later, her feet carrying her across the open road until she was able to approach the hotel by lurking in the shadow it created. She ignored the happy faces and quiet chatter of strangers around her on an evening stroll, instead craning her neck to search the terraces above. Her instincts were rewarded when she spotted her target only two floors up, his back to her but that distinguished head of hair more than recognizable to her by now.

_Lucky you, Alfred Pennyworth_, she thought to herself. _Guess my voice transmitter and thermal imaging toys don't have to get a workout tonight_.

She walked through the main door and past reception, ignoring the elevator and instead ducking into a nearby staircase. The short walk up would give her time to calm her racing nerves, as she hadn't given any thought to what she was going to say once she came face-to-face with the man. She knew she could easily charm the hell out of almost anyone, but Alfred wasn't just _anyone_, and she didn't want to make matters worse for Bruce.

When the stairwell sign indicated that she had reached the 200 level, she pushed the door open slightly and peered into the empty hallway. The numbers on the doors stopped at 258 and went down, and with the rooms being numbered evenly, she reached Room 230 in no time. She discreetly pulled a magnetic device from a clip at her waist, secured it to the outside of the lock and pushed down on the handle. The green light on the lock flashed as the door gave way, and Selina stepped inside the darkened room and headed toward the open balcony door.

Alfred heard her before he saw her, but he registered no immediate reaction to the women clad all in black who had suddenly interrupted his privacy, peace, and quiet. She crossed her legs at the ankles as she leaned on the door frame, not at all surprised to find him so ambivalent toward her.

"You really _are_ his surrogate father, huh? _He's_ brooding on a balcony. _You're _brooding on a balcony…"

She let the sound of her voice fall off, and the older man turned slightly and sized her up.

"I see you haven't lost your taste for breaking and entering."

Selina smiled, despite herself. "I thought I could use a refresher course," she shrugged. "A girl can't let those valuable skills go to waste."

"And now I suppose I know exactly _who_ was behind the mystery café gift certificate sent from my _daughter-in-law_."

"I couldn't find you when I was distributing Christmas gifts around Gotham."

She walked within feet of him, close enough to read him better but far enough apart to keep her distance. It was a sign of respect, and Alfred was impressed, despite himself.

"You must get quite a rise out of Mister Wayne with that sense of humor, Miss."

"_Wayne_?" She shot him a feigned look of confusion. "I don't know a Mr. _Wayne_. He adopted another name when he became a world traveler."

Alfred kept his posture firm but gentle as he clasped his hands together and allowed a questioning look to pass over his features. "Is that right?"

Selina reached to unzip the pocket on the left side of her athletic pants. Reaching inside, she fished out a small, rectangular piece of plastic that she held out for his inspection. His aging hand reached to take it, hesitantly. Hesitant not because he wasn't curious, but because he already had a vague idea of what he would discover.

She watched him examine Bruce's counterfeit identification card carefully, noting the way his fingers trembled and his eyes became glassy with unshed tears that he made no attempt to hide from her, though he turned his head as he somberly passed the card back to her and let out a sigh.

"The late Master Wayne would be touched that his son has taken his first name."

_There it was. That telltale ache somewhere inside of Selina's chest that she promised herself she would swear off for the duration of this encounter. How in the world did these two men manage to break down her defensive barriers so quickly?_

"The last name was the one he put his thought into," she stated quietly, but evenly. Willing her own voice not to falter. _Damn him_.

Alfred's hands fumbled at the tail ends of his crisp, collared, blue-and-white striped shirt. When he looked back up at her, his blue orbs were swimming with a resignation that she knew all too well. She had seen this look on Bruce, and she didn't find it very becoming on either one of the two men.

"Perhaps Mister Wayne, if he'd like to remain anonymous, should have chosen a more unlikely alias."

Selina crossed in front of him, putting herself between him and the cityscape that he was choosing to focus his attention on. "Well, I can see where he got his stubborn streak from. Look, I won't pretend to know exactly what happened between the two of you, but I can assure you that he had absolutely _no_ right to forgive _me_, and yet-"

"Here you stand," he finished for her, nearly inaudibly. He let his gaze pass over her for a long moment, vigilantly studying her body language and the depths of her deep brown eyes. If Selina were a lesser woman, she would have been unnerved by this blatant scrutiny. But even in the limited light, he couldn't find a trace of the maid who had deliberately disobeyed his instructions that night at Wayne Manor. Who he saw now was a woman who he knew had not only been partially responsible for the survival of Gotham, but – because of word he'd heard back from Leslie – also a woman he knew was nearly singlehandedly responsible for the survival of Bruce Wayne.

Not of Batman. But of Bruce. Alfred almost couldn't reconcile this in his mind, until he'd seen them together today. His young charge, all grown up, looking relaxed and …_happy_. Content. Carefree. And Selina Kyle, sitting there with him, looking regal and light in her blue dress, a familiar strand of pearls gracefully adorning her neck. Alfred knew what those pearls meant. He wondered if, deep down, Selina knew of their significance, as well.

Alfred dropped his hands comfortably into the pockets of his well-worn slacks and let out a breath as he regarded Selina with a bit of his life-learned wisdom now shining in his eyes. "What I wanted, Miss Kyle, was not only to see that Mister Wayne is happy, but that he's in excellent hands. Judging from what I saw today…I don't doubt that."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Selina whispered as she shook her head and fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You two are practically the same person. Content with a nod and a smile and then you just…what…walk away? He needs you in his life. And judging from what _I_ see, you need him in yours."

Walking over to the wrought-iron furniture that adorned the space, Alfred patted the seat next to him and motioned for Selina to join him. She hesitated briefly, feeling in her gut that this English gentleman – with his proper accent, kind smile and quick-witted but non-judgmental demeanor – was accomplishing a feat that was all too rare in her book: winning her over. And rather quickly, at that. But as she moved to sit beside him, she felt the slight weight of the world coming off of her own slim shoulders, as well. It felt good to be conversing with someone other than Bruce, and gaining some insight into his past. She tried to push down the nagging thought that she probably wouldn't like it much if the shoe was on the other foot.

Alfred ran his fingertips over the surface of the small table between them, seemingly lost in thought. She watched a pained expression flit across his features, then he quickly recovered and began to speak in a soothing tone.

"About seven months ago…back when word of Bane first began to spread to Gotham…I advised Master Wayne – Bruce – against going back out as the Batman. He'd kept himself secluded for quite a while and, I believed, wasn't in the best physical or mental shape to take on such an adversary. I had seen the way his belief in himself had dwindled , and though his desire to inspire good in the city was still there, living the way that he had for a number of years had taken its toll. I had a fear…that perhaps he wanted to fail."

"He told me about Rachel," Selina interjected suddenly, and Alfred regarded her with complete surprise, blinking and almost looking at her like she'd slapped him. Then just as quickly, his features softened.

"And here I thought that I had lived long enough and seen enough to never be taken by surprise again. If I do say so myself, Miss, it appears that your most recent act of thievery had nothing to do with jewelry and everything to do with Master Wayne's heart."

Selina bit her lip and looked away, embarrassed, and he realized that he had struck a nerve.

"I didn't come here to talk about me and Bruce," she responded flatly.

Having seen through her mask – the sarcastic, unfeeling woman that she pretended to be – Alfred reached out and gently laid a hand on her knee. "I'm quite aware that you haven't. In fact, I'm convinced you came here to tell some old bloke to kindly remove his head from his arse."

At this, Selina couldn't resist looking up at him and cracking a genuine smile. "I was operating under the assumption that I was going to have to win you over."

"Miss Kyle, you seem…" Alfred began, his voice trailing away as he searched for a word. "I know that we didn't meet under the best circumstances. And I know your past life has been…troubled. But if you're good enough for Master Wayne, then you're more than good enough for me."

Selina inhaled deeply before letting out a breath, shaking off his age-spotted hand as she stood again. "I'm not," she mumbled, and Alfred detected the clipped edge that worked its way into her voice.

"Not what, Miss?"

"Good enough for him."

She heard Alfred gasp softly and then he touched her elbow, forcing her to look at him again. "You mustn't think that way. You've proven to be every bit his equal. Someone he can trust to walk beside him. That was always the most important quality: trust. If you've earned that, then you needn't question anything else."

"He doesn't even know that I know you're in Florence. Or that I'm here," Selina choked out bitterly. "How's that for trust?"

"You operate much the way the late Missus Wayne did," he replied matter-of-factly. "Heart first, head later. But even more important than that, you have his best interests in mind. And whether you knew it coming here or not, you've certainly had _my_ best interests in mind, as well."

Selina swallowed against the uncharacteristic swell in her throat and looked at the old man hopefully. "Come with me to see him. Just talk to him. Straighten this all out."

When their eyes met – really met – Alfred saw the pleading that hung there. The fear that he might deny her this simple request. He looked through the balcony doors and took a quick glance around the room where he had been staying, a room that was a getaway but held nothing of him in it.

"I would be delighted, Miss."

* * *

Bruce didn't know what time it was. He was vaguely aware that Selina had been gone a little longer than normal for when she was out for exercise, but he also figured that she likely needed time to clear her mind and would talk to him about the events of her morning when she felt up to it. If nothing else, her absence gave him time to contemplate his brief encounter with his longtime friend and former butler, and to figure out a way to tell Selina about it.

He had never deliberately hidden his hopes from her that Alfred would come to Florence. But considering the depths of the last words spoken between the two men, Bruce didn't want to get her hopes up any more than he wanted to confront his own. Deep down, he knew that if the situation were reversed – if Selina had a chance to someday reconcile with her sister – he would encourage her every step of the way, even if she was afraid of the outcome of such a meeting. However, his history with Alfred was different. This was a man who had raised him, who had stood by patiently while Bruce went through his rebellious teen years and his early adulthood, when he'd raged about vengeance and retribution for his parents' murders and there was not a soul who could do or say anything to soothe him.

_I've sewn you up. I've set your bones. But I won't bury you._

Those words rang in his ears now as he considered that, if not for Selina, Alfred certainly would have buried him. He would have failed Gotham, all because he was too blind to see that someone he chose to trust too quickly was someone he never should have trusted at all. As Batman, Bruce never would have made that mistake in the past. But years in seclusion - with only Alfred to provide for him and to confide in – had dulled his usually sharp judgment. Injuries left over from his encounters with the Joker had left him weakened. The psychological torment for accepting the responsibility for crimes that weren't his had left him depressed. One person had seen him through all of that, but when Alfred had tried using the only weapon he'd had in his arsenal to keep Bruce out of the cape and cowl – that weapon being the truth – Bruce had all but spat in the face of it.

What had shocked Bruce most of all, in retrospect, was how right Alfred had been about Bruce _wanting _to fail. He had never wanted to fail his city, but he had already felt that he had nothing to lose if he merely failed _himself_. Then, a jewel thief had swooped into his life out of nowhere and changed all of that. Selina had not only given Bruce reason to live a life beyond the cave, but she had given him reason to rediscover who he was, internally. She had made him realize that he owed a debt of appreciation to the people who had always cared about him – Alfred, Gordon, Fox. Leslie. And now, to an extent, John Blake.

These were the things that Alfred needed to know. Needed to hear straight from the source. And still Bruce waited, some small part of him believing that the encounter today was so brief, so fleeting, that it wasn't even real. And that maybe if it wasn't real, then he had more time to figure out what to say when the time came. He had time to stay in the dark, in his own little bubble, where Alfred couldn't keep telling him truths about himself – truths that he could see about Bruce with even the slightest observance. Bruce Wayne had built himself a fortress of denial, but now there were two people in his life who could tear it down.

He sighed as he looked out over the Florentine night. Without Selina there next to him, it looked a little less spellbinding, a little less bright. He also heard every voice, every footstep, every sound echoing from a long distance, from the floors and streets below. The silence was deafening, and it was how he knew when their suite door opened to announce her return. It creaked as it swung in its arcing path, and as he turned back toward the main living area, a shaft of light bisected the room, and the roar of what he left behind him outside blasted into silence. The scene before him suddenly parted him from the bustle beyond , as standing just behind Selina – moving with the soft pat of feet shuffling with care across the wood floor – was Alfred Pennyworth.

Eyes wide, he stared at the older man's familiar profile. This wasn't some dream he was having, or some falsity that would leave him feeling hollow and cold when he realized it was just his imagination. It really was Selina watching him hesitantly, trying to gauge his reaction. And Alfred looking so hopeful. Looking at Bruce as if searching for some semblance of the same content, well-adjusted, normal person he'd seen just a few hours ago. Bruce's tongue felt thick in his mouth as he watched the picture unfold, and his gaze passed back and forth between the two until it settled on Selina, who had advanced into his personal space and was gracing him with a breathless, encouraging look.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked weakly, and before he could reply, a response came from the third party in the room.

"I believe, Miss, that the correct statement here is, _Look what the cat drug in_."

For a heartbeat, Alfred and Bruce just stared at each other over Selina's shoulder, faces flat and expressionless. Then, as if someone had hit a switch, they both broke into wide, misty-eyed grins. The statement hadn't even been all that funny, but it was one of those moments where just the right thing had been said, and where lightheartedness had broken through the dour seriousness and been the victor.

"I can't believe she's got you speaking her language already," Bruce acknowledged as a ghost of a chuckle fell from his lips, his tone laced with awe.

"You had better believe it, Master Wayne. This cat burglar of yours is quite a force to be reckoned with. I hope you fancy keeping her around, or I might find reason to go to work for her myself."

"Now boys…there's more than enough of me to go around," Selina teased as she reached up to brush a strand of hair from Bruce's forehead, then leaned in to kiss his cheek softly. When she pulled back, she could see the war of emotions swimming in his eyes, including gratitude that, unbeknownst to him, she could feel to her very core.

"Thank you," he whispered as his stark serious gaze met hers, but she merely shook her head and gave him a look as she used her thumb to wipe her lip stain residue from his face.

"I made poor Alfred walk_ all_ the way over here with me, so I thought that perhaps you could give him a ride back. Maybe take the scenic route."

Bruce again looked to Alfred for his reaction, which consisted of a wink and a nod of the head, similar to the one he had seen earlier that day. "I'm lucky she didn't make me bloody run after her the entire way here."

"And miss the chance to again say 'I told you so' in person?" Bruce raised his eyebrows. "If she had said run, you would have run."

* * *

The traffic patterns in the center of Florence seemed to have changed since this morning. Either that, or Bruce had, in the past several hours, become a very impatient man. First he had hit a red light – which he swore hadn't been there before – at the circle at the Piazza Goldoni. Then when he was sitting in two-way vehicular traffic at the Ponte Alla Carraia and could practically see the outline of their hotel, he swore that the light only stayed green for about a split second, and then stayed definitively red. There wasn't even that time in between where it was yellow-to-red. It was just….red. A color that right now, at this moment, he found himself abhorring beyond any natural reason.

His frustrated sigh echoed in the tiny cabin of the car, and he found his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that the color of his knuckles had faded to the palest shade of white. If he had given thought to anything besides who was waiting for him back at the hotel, he would have noticed that his fingers had begun to ache, also, and that the ones he used to run a hand through his hair had tingled with numbness. Still, all that registered with him was that he couldn't tear his eyes from their stoplight vigil.

Despite the late hour, he could picture Selina now, curled up on the floor of their room doing crazy repetitions of abdominal crunches, or out on the balcony practicing high kicks off of the practically ancient stone walls. These were the things she did when she needed to keep busy or burn off stress. But she had seemed quite calm when she had all but shoved him out the door with Alfred. He had been gone long enough that perhaps by now, she would be relaxing in bed and twirling strands of her long, full, shiny hair around her finger as she read from one of her favorite books.

She would grab a strand with her thin, red-painted index finger and twist it into a spiral, only to let it fall loose and then start all over again. Her full lips, slightly parted in thought as she read, would be showing just the barest hint of teeth behind them. Lips that he knew could kiss and suck and caress, and teeth that he knew could playfully – and sometimes roughly – bite and nip. The thought was enough to cause him to jam his foot on the gas pedal all the way to the floor when the unforgiving light mercifully, _finally_ turned green. Bruce drove the rest of the way with the window cracked, pulling at the collar of his shirt because of the sudden flush of heat that his thoughts had created.

He barely registered the act of actually putting the car into park when he reached his final destination, nor passing through the lobby and impatiently shifting from foot to foot as the elevator seemed to crawl from floor to floor. Though his mind felt completely clear for the first time in his life, it may have also been the first time ever that he was hell-bent on listening completely to his heart, and nothing else. He took a deep, cleansing breath as the tail end of his conversation with Alfred rung in his ears, over and over.

_Alfred paused as he opened the door to his hotel room to show Bruce out. Their lengthy chat had done much to lift his spirits and reassure him that from here on out, his former charge would be just fine. In fact, he'd be better than fine. There was only one question still lingering at the back of Alfred's mind. One that he was sure he already knew the answer to, but it had to be asked, regardless._

"_Master Wayne?"_

_Bruce stopped in mid-stride and pressed a hand to the door frame as he turned. "Yes, Alfred?"_

"_Do you love her?"_

_Bruce's breath halted, and he stepped back to really look his longtime friend in the eye. A spark came to his gaze and spread across his face, despite the fact that Alfred's stare pierced more sharply than any he'd ever known. But he also knew that his answer – to admit it out loud, finally – was something that needed to be said. _

"_I do," he breathed softly, but sure. "I really, really do. I just need to find a way to tell her that without driving her away."_

_Alfred placed a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder, and then pulled him in for a pat on the back. "No hesitation, Master Wayne. No placation. Just certainty. You go to Miss Kyle and tell her how you feel. And just know that neither your mother and father, nor myself, could have hand-picked a better match for you."_

Bruce shook his head and smiled. Whatever Selina had said to Alfred earlier in the evening must have really made an impression. Enough to make him forget that she'd ever fenced an irreplaceable strand of pearls from the very home that he'd made it his life's blood to oversee.

The elevator chimed and the doors seemed to open in slow motion, leaving Bruce standing on the wrong side of one more door – one final barrier – that stood between himself and the woman he needed so badly. How had he never noticed all of the detail in this hallway? Ornate columns, exotic potted plants, constantly flickering candles on all of the windowsills. It was as if his mind wanted to take a photograph of this moment, when a simple door was all that stood between now and the rest of his life. His brows furrowed as he pulled the room card from the pocket of his jeans with slightly shaky hands that seemed to act out his desperation.

_Desperation_.

The word sounded so inappropriate to describe exactly what he was feeling as the light on the lock blinked green, and his fingers guided the door handle down to push the offending piece of wood inward. It was like he had to keep moving, keep thinking, because if he stopped – if he let the world stop, for even a split second – then he would never get to Selina. He was as desperate as any man could ever have been, for any reason. The word implied no casual sort of need, but instead described a hunger that couldn't be sated by anything, _anyone_ but her.

A dim light enveloped the main living area of the suite as his legs carried him forward, but to no sign of her. Unfazed, he simply continued moving back toward the bedroom, as if following the scent of her. He couldn't quite seem to get enough air into his lungs, and Bruce Wayne, of all people, felt giddy and anxious and frantic all at once.

His eyes finally fell upon her when he found her seated at the corner desk in their sleeping chambers. She turned her attention away from the laptop computer when she heard him enter the room, her curious gaze meeting his earnest one head-on. She draped her left arm loosely over the back of the chair as she turned to fully face him, her heartbeat all but immediately jumping into her throat when she saw the softness in his eyes.

"How did it g-"

She was cut off in mid-question as Bruce's hurried strides conquered the last few feet that separated them, his solid hands closing around her forearms and lifting her from the insignificant piece of furniture that he easily moved aside. Her warm breath against his face buffeted him, adding fuel to the fire of his seemingly already blurry haze. He lifted her inches from the floor until he had to look up at her, then pressed her back against the wall behind the desk as he felt her shiver at both his touch and at her precarious situation.

"Selina…" he breathed. A quivery mess of nerves bundled in his stomach.

She bent her arms at the elbows to frame his face with her hands, and simply stared down at him, silent and still, daring him to make the first move. She felt his rapid pulse when she splayed her fingers against the sides of his neck, then leaned in until her lips were practically upon his, hovering in intimate territory.

He looked in her eyes for several more long moments as he slowly lowered her to the ground, and then the world split around him and he couldn't keep it in anymore. His palms spanned her ribcage as the hem of her shirt lost its battle with both gravity and the pressure of his hands, easing upward as his fingertips searched out the skin beneath the material. All of his blood ran south as he discovered that she had ditched her bra sometime while he'd been away, and she arched against the wall as he kneaded her breasts slowly, still not breaking eye contact with her even as she hissed sharply at him.

"Cold!"

"They'll warm up," he responded with a growl, and he caught the reflection of the overhead lamp in her pupils, which dilated with darkening need as he finally, _finally _attacked her mouth with his. His kiss wasn't as smooth as she was used to, but the demanding and frantic way he licked the small gap between her lips, pushing her mouth open, left them both breathless as he worked his tongue between her teeth and she slid hers against it in a duel of sorts. Stopping to breathe became an afterthought until it became a necessity, their focus in between instead on the _rubbing, twisting, sucking_ that left her whimpering into his mouth. It was a high-pitched, pleasure-filled sound that he wasn't sure he'd heard her make before, and it vibrated off of his tongue and shook him all the way down his spine, pulling him apart in shaky pieces as it went.

For as much time as he'd spent purely _wanting _her over the course of the past hour or so, he hadn't expected something so fast and out of control. He had planned on slow, sensual, loving. He had planned on clothing – buttons, cloth and zippers – being carefully undone and open, not ripped and torn and popped off. But as he splayed her between him and the wall and the stitches of fabric between them began to be tossed away carelessly, he found that suddenly she had his jeans and boxers pooled at his knees, and he was grinding up against her, his hips gyrating in a vertical circle inside of legs that she had instinctively opened wide for him.

"Mmmmm," she moaned in his ear, clutching at his hair as she pushed closer, undulating against him and realizing that it had taken him merely seconds to build up a nearly painful pressure in her groin, her abdomen, her swollen and pulsing center. She strained and paused in her motions of sliding against him, clawing at and practically obliterating her soaked panties as his hardness sprang to life against her, and then before she knew it, he had found the underside of her knees with his hands and lifted her until he turned and deposited her across the bed.

It was only then, when Selina was sprawled across the golden crème and olive comforter – her chest heaving, her hair fanned out on the pillows behind her – that Bruce paused to take it all in. He finished ridding himself of his own clothing as he watched her, his gaze long and slow, his eyes torn with a tenderness that betrayed the look plastered across his face.

She should have known what was coming, then. Should have anticipated when he switched gears from sensual to serious. Perhaps she was still in denial. He dropped his knees to the bed and crawled over her, grabbing her thighs and pushing her up so that she was sitting between him and headboard, her knees resting against the wall of his chest as he bottomed into a sitting position. Now subdued and quiet in the darkness, Bruce cradled her face in his hands and looked at her earnestly, willing to put passion on hold for a moment. He pushed back the long tangles of hair around her face so that he could see her eyes, and he willed the butterflies in his stomach to cease before he lost his nerve.

"Selina…I don't know that anyone would have done for me what you did today," he began, and he could feel his heart already squeezing, hear his voice already cracking. "Ever since we got here, the amount of things you've put up with…the hospital, my treatments, my mood swings. You saw through my stubbornness with Alfred before I did. You keep saving me, again and again."

She blinked at him as she digested his words, her brain coming out of the fuzz he had created when he'd worked up every nerve ending in her body. He had said she had saved him. Her, save him? No, it was the other way around. She was sure of it. And as she watched his lips move, the world started making sense again. The wheels turned inside of her, and gears shifted, and she could literally _feel_ the moment when the lock she'd kept around her heart began to break away. She let out a warm breath against his face as unending waves of relief washed over her, splashing away the worry and guilt and feelings of worthlessness she'd held in check for far too long, obliterating them. Because he'd finally said something that she could believe and hold onto. She'd been there herself. They had saved _each other_.

"I know that you might run," he said. He punctuated it with a longing look and a soft kiss to her lips. She didn't feel like running.

"I know that you're scared," he said. He brought a hand down over her heart, resting it against her breast. His hands were warm now. And she wasn't afraid.

"But I do know"… He used the crook of his finger to tip her chin up to meet his watery gaze…"that you and I make a very good team. We're better together than we are apart."

And she couldn't disagree with this. For once in her life, two was a better number than one.

She had never thought she would tell anyone. Would never admit it. But now, it seemed important. Something that had to be…said. If him saying what he'd told her so far had this kind of effect on _her_, she could only imagine the relief she'd denied him until now – the opportunity for him to know that this was real. As real as it gets. She couldn't…She reached up and clutched him around the neck and sighed, a fresh swath of tears she'd had no idea she was ever capable of dripping down onto his shoulders as she pulled him to her. Selina never did anything halfway, and she wasn't about to now, either.

"I love you," she murmured into his neck, breathing in the scent of him, his warmth, everything.

She felt him completely still, as if frozen, and all that remained for a long set of moments was his quiet breathing and the solid feel of him against her, living. She laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, letting him process what she'd said in peace. And finally she just felt…free. Complete.

The calm lingered around them, seeming to blanket them both, for what Selina was sure had been several long minutes. Then she lifted her head from him to peer at him. His face was wet. He'd been crying. When had he been crying? She'd missed it. But he looked…relieved. Happy. Comforted. Dumbfounded. Because despite the fact that she had the ability to run far, far away, she was here, and in his arms. And she loved him. And that was perfect enough to right everything that had _ever_ been wrong in his world.

His gaze met hers and he leaned his forehead in and pressed his entire face to hers. A perfect, symmetrical line right down the middle. Halves of each other.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," he whispered, and she gave him a watery smile.

"I know."

And then he was at her mouth again, the taste of salt on both of their lips as they came together with desperate need. There were still things they both wanted to say – needed to say – but three monumental words at a time were enough. For now. She had deprived him of her body for days, and right now he just wanted to claim her as his, over and over, until she couldn't think.

He started with fingers shaking, fumbling, as his hands moved down to her waist to hold her while he commenced an all-out assault on her neck, working and teasing at the skin, suckling at the most sensitive spot that he knew could have her ready for him in mere moments. Sure enough, the stimulation drew a moan out of her that made his insides quiver when it landed against his eardrums, and he pulled himself back to his knees and bunched her legs back up between them as his mouth moved further down, stopping to nip at her clavicle.

He was on his way to lave her breasts with attention when he felt her reach down and cup him. He lifted his head, his eyes glassy, his breaths strained. "No. Let me do this," he said with a sigh as he pushed her away. "This is about you. Let me show you…let me love you, Selina."

Confusion pummeled at the corners of her awareness, but she rested her head back against the pillows as he gathered her arms and tucked them behind her back, drawing his now-steady hands all the way up to her shoulders and then down, down, down past her hips and thighs to grasp her under the knees. He placed another loving kiss on her lips as he separated her legs wide enough so that her knees rested just below his shoulders. Then she watched in a hazy stupor as he took his own pulsing length in his hands, slid his own legs wider apart, and then pushed his hips closer to her and tapped his erection against her glistening center.

She immediately twitched, her hips instinctively jumping off of the bed, but he took one large palm and held her down just below her belly button.

"I know what you like, Selina," he said in a voice that sounded like a lower octave, even to his own ears. He struggled to keep it together as he tapped again, just enough of a caress to make her dizzy. A puddle of moaning, panting need. "I want to watch you come undone for me before I ever get inside you."

He jerked his erection against his right hand a few times and then attacked her again, making small circles all around her swollen lips, playfully dipping it into her glistening entrance, then tracking her wetness back to her jumping bundle of nerves.

"Bruce!" she hissed as he grew accustomed to what kind of pressure he could apply to get his desired reaction. He continued pressing just the throbbing head against her clit until he felt the nub pulsing, and then he'd slide down through her folds and back up again. Selina was out of her mind with…something. Want. Lust. Necessity. An almost insane, unimaginable desire. Every few moments, he would pull back slightly and watch her whole body trembling with anticipation. Then he'd draw her back up the mountain, slowly, punishing, torturous, altering his motions and timing so that when she reached the top, she was gasping. She clenched her knees against his shoulders. Sweat trickled down her face and tickled the backs of her thighs. Her toes curled. Her neck ached with the tension of jamming her head back against the pillows.

He paused as he watched her mouth drop open and her eyes began to water, then he rubbed his throbbing stiffness against her several more times, with just enough pressure, and her world peeled away as she began to spill around him. "Good girl," he soothed, his voice deep and warm and rumbling, but she barely heard it. The pulse of her heartbeat sliced through her, and her knees twitched against his shoulders in dull spasms she couldn't control. The room seemed to spark, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, she could only feel. She arched forward, screaming at the completion as it overwhelmed her sense of self, sense of anything. Euphoria drummed against her muscles, and when the world came back to her, she felt Bruce's weight against her, felt his palm against her lips, keeping her muffled and silent as he finally pushed all the way into her.

She continued to move – a mess of out-of-control spasms – as he pulled her down to lay beneath him, pausing for a moment to prop a pillow just under her hips before he began to thrust. Her orgasm had left them both slick and this angle allowed him better penetration, and she screamed as she felt his testicles pressing against her center, proving that he could get no deeper. He hung there for a long, torturous moment as the sound of her pleasure grated, scorched down the back of her throat until it all fell back into relative silence. Then he locked eyes with her and slid out of her again, and she angled her torso so that she slammed against him as he withdrew and plunged, withdrew and plunged.

He continued to drive at her while pressing haphazard kisses to her jaw, searching out her hands with his until he laced their fingers together and was satisfied with the grip she had on him. Inside. Outside. All around his heart. Then he felt the gush of her second release, and the feeling of her clenching around him just caused everything to stop. He was somewhere in the middle of a final deep thrust when he felt himself careening over the cliff he'd been creating since she'd spoken those three words. His mind followed his body's command to rock up against her one more time, and then he released into her, letting out a moan that sounded almost inhuman to his ears. Wailing, distorted, like agony. And yet it felt…amazing. She squeezed his hands tightly as several seconds passed, and he spilled the last of himself into her as he leaned over her shoulder and rested his forehead against the pillow behind her head, taking in heaving breath after heaving breath.

He was vaguely aware of her detangling her fingers from his, reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead, and then he begrudgingly pulled out of her and rolled to his side, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against him. So tight that he could feel her heart still slamming in her ribcage.

"I love you," he said. He would never get tired of saying it. "And I intend on making love to you for the rest of the night."

And he did, again and again, until finally, some long hours later, the bed hummed as he lowered them together, sighing with tired relief as they flattened out and she settled against him again. "Sleep, Selina," he whispered, kissing the top of her head as he gathered her firmly in his embrace. He rubbed her back, up and down, up and down, until her eyes slipped shut and her breathing evened out. Only then, when he knew she was fully relaxed, did he let himself drift off with her.

* * *

_Selina turned off the water, continuing to stack plates in the dishwasher, then wiped her hands on a towel as she stilled, listening. A soft breeze blew through the window just above the sink, tousling the hair around her face. She swiped at the strands nonchalantly, tucking them back behind her ears. _

"_Missus Wayne, do you mind if I ask what it is that you're doing?"_

_She turned to see Alfred in the kitchen doorway, blue eyes surveying the mess around him._

"_It looks like a bloody bomb went off in here. I DO think that you and Master Wayne should reconsider giving me Sundays off."_

_Selina raised her eyebrows. "And exactly when would that give you any chance to spend time with Leslie?"_

_Alfred rolled up his sleeve and reached to pluck one of the dishes from her hands. "I've no doubt that she would be right here with me, occupying herself with your young mischief maker."_

_Selina rolled her eyes and shook her head as she began to return to the task at hand, but then she heard it. Something high-pitched on the wind. A shriek, but not a scared one. A happy one._

_Alfred glanced out the window at the exact same time that she did, then simply gestured to her with the wave of a hand. "Go on."_

_She begrudgingly left the pile of dirty breakfast dishes behind, knowing that even after several years, she still wouldn't win a battle with the butler. At least not when it came to what he considered to be HIS kitchen._

_Beyond the curving stone patio in the back yard, the blue above and the vibrant green below created a surreal bi-color split of sky and earth. Blades of grass fluttered in the breeze. The ocean out in the distance bubbled as waves crashed into the sand, the gentle lull of it still soothing to Selina's ears. She didn't know if she'd ever get tired of it. _

_As she rounded the corner at the side of the house – their house – she saw a dark mop of hair fly up over the lip of the swing set in a blurry burst of speeding color._

"_Higher, daddy!" his voice shrieked, giggling._

_Selina watched as she leaned against the dinette set on their patio. Now THIS…this was also a sight that she knew she would definitely never tire of._

_Bruce stood behind the swing set, slightly to the side, presumably so he wouldn't get hit by their son, who was impersonating a speeding projectile at the moment. The breeze sent waves through his dark hair. His clean-shaven face had a slight blush to it, and he looked good. Happy. Peaceful, standing there in his white t-shirt and frayed jeans, pushing their son in the swing set he had built for him. _

_Thomas Alfred kicked with his tiny feet as he whooshed through the air, his baby teeth flashing as he grinned ear to ear. The view from their backyard really was spectacular beyond the fence, and Selina imagined that 'Tom Tom' would squint at the water beyond and pretend he was really flying. Flying like his daddy used to, but with a much lighter purpose._

"_Higher! Higher, higher, higher!" he laughed, and Bruce laughed, too, as he obliged him with a smile and a harder push._

_Selina sighed, wistful as she watched her family. The family she'd chosen for herself. She'd married a man she trusted – the first person to ever win her trust, completely. A man who loved her enough to move heaven and earth to make her happy. A man who, over time, made her accept the idea of a child with him simply because it WAS with him.__**With **__HIM. A child who had terrified Selina from the very first flutter she'd felt in her stomach, from the very first loud cry in the delivery room, from the very first bumps and bruises he'd gained as he toddled after his parents when he'd learned to walk. _

_It was okay that she was terrified. Because for every worry – for every bump and bruise – she and Bruce were experiencing this together. _

_Together__._

_He looked up as if he'd sensed her scrutiny. She met his stark gaze. The skin around his eyes crinkled. Her lip curved upward in a smile. He waved with his free hand, and her smile deepened._

_They shared a long look across the lush space. When she walked closer and finally reached him, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and whispered against his ear._

"_What was that look for?"_

_Bruce turned and slipped an arm around her waist, dropping a kiss onto her head as he did so._

"_When you first walked outside, the shade from the house was masking your face. I like you better with the mask off."_

_Selina paused to reflect on his words as she watched the little life they'd created swaying in front of them, his youthful features expressing an open joy that neither one of his parents had gotten to display during their childhood. Then she looked over at Bruce, noticing he was cloaked with the same radiant look. _

"_You know what?" she mumbled as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "I think I could say the same for you."_

Selina awoke with a start, sighing at the disappearing warmth as the comforter fell down off of the sweat-slickened skin of her shoulders. She pulled it back up and squinted at Bruce in the darkness as she thought about the dream she'd just had. He was still out cold, but his lips wore the vaguest hint of a smile. She curled back against him, resting an ear against his chest, and closed her eyes again as she listened to his heartbeat.

The sun would be coming up soon, but that was fine.

For the first time in their lives – for two hearts used to living in the dark – the light wasn't scary anymore.


End file.
